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.