Iraq War

Wrapped in a shroud

the man in the coffin,

lay buried under

a clod of earth,

his spirit hovering

incessantly;

a cloud pouring rain

asked, why the Iraqi children

were crying out in horrific pain?

The essence of camphor

questioned the existence

of chemicals,

when the entire world

(Blix included)

had cried, ’No war!’

The sea splayed angrily

against the rocks, mangled flesh and armoury

seething within its debris.

the moon waned

its luminous glow,

unable to bear the continual flow

of human blood on earth;

there were no dearth

of voices from cyber space

crying, ‘colossus brute

watch your pace!’

but you strode on

—-unfazad;

the smell of oil

a perfect foil

for your plans.

Slowly, you reduce land to territory,

a people to subject,

creating minefields

in minds;

white doves flutter helplessly

as your men embark

on an anarchy,

a scarring of the psyche

that history will never forget

nor the people ever relent.

And the night lay

engulfed in sorrow,

awaiting a greater dawn

tinged with a pink hope

in the morrow,

when the diminished people

would rise,

spelling the demise

of power;

to this hour,

the sun dedicated

its bloody sunset.

— Sagari Chhabra

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