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.