War Thou ain't Beautiful
Dreaming streams changing shadows and rainbows
On the surface painted, like all streams coming
To a standstill. Like all beauty gathered in the hands'
Risen in prayer. War thou ain't beautiful.
Thine ominous gaze and tongue of fire leapt
A fire breathing dragon, or the evil angels held by
Their tongues. Hanging in the well of hell.
Thine frail and feeble hand, O! Beauty though
Fought. With thine thin line, defeating doubts,
O! Beauty, you held. Either three thousand years loose,
Or a thousand year of war. From the ferocious eyes,
So sudden was a change of heart, from
"A Forgotten Song" to "Love in War",
My subconscious, still believes that war is bravery.
Valor. But war is deceit, misery, with its ugly face.
A doubt like the old lady to Farhad
Was like who owns and place the epitaph
On the master's work, though by itself an idea.
Even then, had it not been for the beauty's relentless
Effort, belief, and strength, it would have been
In flames. But that is not nature's doing.
Then will come the doomsday. The end of the world.
I remember you holding to the last icon, in onslaught
You still fought for my name, embroidered
As the last remnant in this battle of blood and sweat.
I let it, and may be from there you were the winner.
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Photograph by Alex Bykov @ stockvault
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