You can smell blood in the air <br />See billowing smokes of gunfire <br />Feel the fettered men that died there <br />From hunger disease and hard labor! <br /> <br />Still reek the tennis court and the bakery <br />Of the sweats of penal toils in that island <br />Till they fell and died in slavery <br />To the lashes of the whips of ruler's hand! <br /> <br />The water plant stands like a cruel mockery <br />Its ironed frame now ruined in century's rust <br />Reminding those souls killed for bravery <br />Never got a drop of water to quench thirst! <br /> <br />Over the wails of the prisoners were made a paradise <br />Where the monsters retired to seek love at night <br />But the crumbling ruins of that island cannot disguise <br />the stains of blood and denial of prisoners' right!<br /><br />Pradip Chattopadhyay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ross-island/
