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 civilizations 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.