War Is A Crisis

War, spread all over the world

Like a blue horror; it gallivants on the red carpet

Respected, revered; it is a strait that’s troubling

Existence, yet it is the weather without which

The tonsured world cannot breathe.

Weapons, arms are disastrous - stillborn children

Of civilisations over the years; but their parents

Are the blackjacks we carry within, explode them

In all walks of life on a war footing! We seem to be

In love with war, riding on a mindless monster.

We hide behind words replete with

Superfluous ornaments; produce,

Market weapons on one hand,

While on the other, we talk and write

Volumes on disarmament.

War is a crisis, a red bed

On which we cremated peace.