War: A poem 

The minstrel of peace sings to an empty audience 

When borders are broken with the music of violence 

Fortune is laid bare in war’s desert-like cloak 

And detente falls like a lightning-struck oak 

Can the reassurances of leaders allay the peoples’ fears?

The wells of despair and the orphans’ tears 

The sorrow that the hapless stricken widow knows 

The brave smile through the pain with which she glows  

Can history itself speak for the many fallen? 

That needless death and destruction were its calling 

Is victory justice? The aftermath’s closure is only balm 

Soothing the hurt, but not recompensing the harm 

Yes, love can’t be brokered, nor dignity be hawked 

But in universal aspirations peace’s bottle is uncorked 

For, in building edifices only within our four walls 

There only echoes empty glory in our halls