Category Archives: War

Prostrate Men

a poem by

The smoke had left the ground,
There was no move, no sound.
The mastiff rose with a high chest,
To find its dead master in earnest.
The aura brought the smell of destruction,
The mastiff moved forward with adoration.
It had, at last, its master found,
Lying lifeless on the damaged ground.
There were thousands of men paying penalty to dead,
All died for their country to get their history made.
There were lakhs of battle men terminated,
Fought for their national feelings to get ventilated.
Every soul became sad as besmirch had got their nation,
But now, every dying heart knew, war was not the solution.
No victors, no vanquished,
To speak of pride, so childish.
The robust dog thought, God, why this war?
You have taken their lives fixed in a deadly jar.
Men were fighting for their own mother nature,
To lose their only lives like forest creatures.
Again the mastiff rose with a tear in its eye,
And asked the question as to its depression – why?
It had its evening for its master in moan,
And started its maiden journey sad alone.

The Letters

a poem by

In the midst of twilight,
I found them!
Stained and pathetic-
Yes! those envelope of gray shape.
Which were hiding,
Heartily laughter,
Which once got buried into-
Fragmented and unheard wails.

In those shattered letters,
Lie the deep sound of pain and tears,
And Fume of flesh and fear,
Which once was grounded-
To escape
That detrimental howl of battle.
That air of blood.
Of that terrific time.
Of those silent days.

Those red smears, painted
Immensely on its yellow inch
Oh! those alphabets,
Dictating  mysterious mishap,
The victory of its doughty saints
And curtain the naked smile,
Of those who were abandoned from dear to known!
For that is the cost of patriotism,
Which Escaped every eye.
Of those who were buried in the soil of unknown.
Their blood flooded the roots of that tree
The same tree which witnessed
The screech of thousands virgin
Million young blood.

Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust

a poem by

Droplets of tear still remain on eyes,
World yet to recover from human cruelty.
Splashes of blood stains remain on walls of history.
Where, we created an epithet of meanness.
Wrote a long story of war and peace,
Dawn of peace came when all got tired.
But, just to recoup ourselves for another aggression.
In the name of god we kill each other.
We know how to be cruel butchers of all time.
Race, caste, class, colour, creed, and religion,
Are cliché on the walls of history?
All just our thoughts for a show of strength.
Inventions are useful for war techniques.
Once we tested our capabilities on raw fleshes
Those two cities* are real monuments of human cruelty.
Yes the success rate was cent percent.
We have our war games to test effectiveness.
Our equipments are fine tuned to last.
One day we will do it, one race one nation,
By burning ourselves chanting “Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust”
*Hiroshima And Nagasaki

Rocket Rain

a poem by

Graveyard pushes its horizon in thunder,
as the dead seek resting place
deep down under
after a rocket rain
that scorched pigeons, thrush and men
before having carted them to this cemetery
in an inversion of Kafkaesque reality .

Oh Jerusalem, under siege for 23 times,
Inflicted 52 assaults ,
and captured or recaptured 44 times
when was history without
blood and grime,
the war is on.

Jerusalem is easy to find , not Jesus
not Allah, nor Abraham
the trinity of faith in a unity .
Out there is dead sea
to float bodies in its salinity ,
wash your sins and cry ,
for the holy land
is lost in the
dust bowl of time .


a poem by

Long long ago,
Columbus had given birth to it

America defined,
Israel practices it
Palestine and Afghanistan were wrote history
Now Iraq and Lebanon are in the picture,

Silence will break within seconds

My wars with…

a poem by

I am at war,
I am at war with myself
To defeat the enemies
And make a true me.
My wars may be small,
They may start at the dawn at times and
Sometimes they may grieve me at nights, too.
Cautious I must be
Cause they may strike me any second;
It may start for a great cause, or
The cause may be insignificant, too.
Even in my prayers
They can come and disturb as stray thoughts
Some times, they may question me and
At sometimes they may answer with controversies
They may tempt me to raise the sword
For and against the devils in me,|
They may confuse and may guide me in my struggles,
Am I the only one to fight these wars,
Or, is there any one with me in the field of battle?

Battle Thoughts

a poem by

Mother, you are in a soldier’s cry
And also in a baby’s longing for his mother
If you dance your death-dance
Then, can you remain silent
On a throbbing breast of a mother with a child in her arms?

How long will you make us go round?

Cycle seems endless
Torture is painless
It has to be lovable

Come and pick me up in your arms
Sweet darkness, let it envelope me

Then only is there peace

Raising The Alarm

a poem by

Don’t you see?
The toll the war has on me
Is this my fight?
Are have I been thrown in this plight

I want to go home
But I can’t leave these poor people here alone
I see their struggle and I reach out
Some don’t even know what it is all about

We came here to help
But somehow we got left
In this hell hole
Looking for our souls

Peace seems so far away
But on we stay
I give my solemn prayer
To those who stay here (dying)

A few more days
Is what they say?
But is it going to matter
Today more bullets splatter

I seem to think not
But I can’t see us stop
For we are red white and blue
Standing tall standing true

Against this terror we will win
We must preserver to
The End

Victory for War of Faith

a poem by

Men of promise but not performance lead to no development;
On such men no body should have faith for doing vital deed!
In reality life is chess game like, in which every move counts
And one should comprehend which one to defend or offend!

In life too only intellectual truth can provide real knowledge;
Then only right decision can be taken in time for life and work!
Perhaps due to this fact Mahabharata war still continues in life;
So, there cannot be a person without brain storm in the world!

Everyone has to decide matter before determining to go ahead;
First one has to be successful in the war within the mind in time,
Then only one can be successful in all the wars in life and work!
All the wars of the world are actually wars of the minds of men!

Our life is not with materials but with men in the works of the world;
We have to pay importance to human but not to material values here;
For, faith in love, truth and justice is as great as faith in God itself!
Wisdom lies in having faith in permanent but not in perishable things!

In Mahabharata Arjuna had faith in Krishna but not in arms and soldiers;
In the war victory went to Vijay but not to Duryodhana and brothers!
For, success is sure only to the lasting but not to the losing values!
So, love of truth as God is a great faith that never fails in the world!

Tom Foolery – 1

a poem by

Lunatics, charlatans and fanatics play using politics or religion;
Charlatans and intellectuals manipulate the affairs of mankind;
But fate finishes everything to the surprise of all in the drama!

Merely by our physical might we cannot be hopeful of winning;
If we indulge in such thing it would only become a Tom foolery!
For, we cannot under estimate others and over estimate ourselves!

Even Ravana lost in the battle against Rama due to Tom Foolery!
Also, Duryodhana lost victory in Mahabharata due to Tom Foolery!
Not only in legend but also in history loss of victory was due to that!

For fifty years France fought to have control in Indo-China only in vain;
Then for twenty five years America fought Vietnam War only in vain!
What a Tom Foolery developed countries had with the underdeveloped!

The USA fights with modern weapons to contain communism or terrorism;
But the opponents wage protracted guerrilla warfare for their freedom!
So, Tom Foolery has become a never ending story like Tom and Jerry Series!

Like cat and mouse, wolf and goat, snake and mongoose men fight themselves
Due to politics, religion, race, caste, creed, class and colour in the world ever; so,
Big ideals contrary to humanism create clashes between individuals and nations!

Tom Foolery – 2

a poem by

Capitalism versus communism created and continued cold war!
Nationalism, religious fundamentalism, racism breed fanaticism;
Regionalism and unions make men fight like cat and mouse ever!

Democratically men don’t accept the truth and make democracy a farce!
Truth may be for or against the will of men, a fact to be accepted by all;
If so, there will be no cold wars or world wars but only paradise for all!

Truth can be bent as long as there is physical strength or mass support;
But time saps of the strength making the adamant finally yield to the truth!
This is the reality of the world truthful people never forget or lose faith in.

All the successes of the villains succumb to the hero of love and truth!
Even the whole world turns against, final victory is only for the good!
Even the law is contrary in the court, dharma is always for the truth!

Like man’s limitations man’s laws cannot stand before the truth of dharma
As dharma is the law of nature, natural justice and the will of God here;
This is the fundamental truth one has to know before deciding the path.

This truth is the God which everyone has to know foremost in the world
And follow the path of love which is the natural course of men in life
If one wants to live life with joy, peace and satisfaction to make it heaven!


a poem by

Across a clear expansive sky,
a cloud placidly floated by
Serene in spirit, gay in mood,
to and fro the blithe cloud moved.
The sky is mine to roam it said,
unhindered in this world to tread
I choose my path, go where I please,
with peace of mind, for I am free
I travel where my heart takes me,
I live my life in ecstasy.
What matters if when up on high,
I block the sun for some time nigh
To people who are down below,
there need for warmth is hard to know
I have my life, I live for me,
it matters not what others feel.

Then from another part of sky,
a rolling wind came gushing by
It blew and blew in furious gusts
as if in throes of sexual lust
The cloud first trembled then turned pale,
it had no hope to hold the gale
Except as part of territory,
that it refused a part to be.
For in such stormy swamps of space,
it had no grasp, it had no place
To stave off foreign hands unseen,
but still the cloud wanted the means
To live in comfort of the land,
with freedom but without the hand
That gave the cloud the very means,
to live its life with self-esteem.

And so propelled to shores unseen,
it vanished unwept from the scene
To take up residence elsewhere,
to fight a cause that was not there.
A cause its people had to fight,
espoused from numerous foreign sites,
A war fought out in freedoms name,
with people made pawns in the game
To fight a war devoid of aim,
to bear the misery and pain,
Of loss of life and loss of hearth
of broken limb and broken hearts
Of sons buried in nameless graves
of widows cursed to single state
And orphans who will never know,
how a little child should grow.

The peaceniks of the world cried foul,
why should the wind throw out the cloud?
So steadily they pumped in funds
to help the militants buy guns
And trained them in ingenious ways
to fight in darkness and by day
They brought their foreign gods with them, preaching an alien religion
To change there culture and their style,
change their very way of life
In this they succeeded so well,
the people lost their heritage
And picked up styles alien to see,
in their very own territory
In freedoms name they lost you see,
the very thing they yearned to be.

The war dragged on for years and years,
playing on the people’s fears
For freedoms sake the people fought,
egged on by leaders who had thoughts
Of ruling with an iron hand,
the people of this lovely land
That people lived in misery,
the leaders did not wish to see
So they lived on in foreign sand,
and danced to tunes of alien bands
Living in wealth extorted from,
the people they claimed as their own
A people rendered destitute,
by years of war and solitude
Childhood lost, gun culture rife,
could such freedom be worth the price?

For freedom is dear to behold,
it manifests in ways untold
But what it means who can define,
a thought so distinctly sublime?
For who is free and who is not
is philosophically fraught
With answers that are hard to find
for freedom is a state of mind
A chance to live and feel and grow,
to love and cherish and bestow
On generations yet to come,
the gift of certain traditions
That give to each the right to be,
confer on all equality
We’re truly free when once we find,
we’re free in spirit and in mind.

Ode to a Martyr

a poem by

Anxious eyes await the news,
though trying to hide their fear.
Because they know what it feels to lose,
someone they loved and lost so dear.

A knock is heard upon the door,
the family jumps up with a start.
Could this be what they were waiting for?
Oh, God how it tears the heart!

A burly man enters the room,
and whispers softly in the old man’s ear.
All eyes gaze as he nearly swoons,
to hear the news of his son so dear.

The bearer of bad tidings leaves,
his job performed, his work well done.
All rush to the man as he falls on his knees,
crying ,”God have mercy on our son!”

The tears stream down his wrinkled face,
while he makes a valiant effort to stand.
“We’ll make it through with God’s good grace,
our son’s a martyr for his land.”

“Oh woe this day,” the mother cries,
her tears stream down like pouring rain.
“It is not right the young should die,
nobody knows a mother’s pain.”

Soon comes a letter which reads so nice,
in print so clear and starkly cold.
“For this young boys great sacrifice,
a shining medal of solid gold.

He was indeed a brave young man,
his courage was at his highest peak.
His life he gave for his motherland,
there’s more like him we’d like to seek.

We’re sorry to lose such a valiant youth,
in this bloody but noble war.
He died for righteousness and truth,
could anyone ask for more?”

“Oh woe is me!” The mother cried.
“Is this what human life is worth?
That we should see our young ones die,
Is this why we give birth?”

Oh how many more must fight and die,
before all wars come to an end?
How many hearts must break and cry,
Over father, husband, son and friend.

The Promise

a poem by

“I have to leave now”, the young man said.
He put on his uniform and put his sword in his scabbard.
The war was on and he was to serve,
Serve his motherland and leave his mother.
The mother was full of tears.
“Please can you stay?”, she asked.
“No”, was the stern reply.
The mother held her boy to her heart,
It was pounding.
Apprehension- not knowing what to do she cried.
“I’ll come soon mother,
and take you to a place far away.
Where there are no wars, no pain, no anger and no greed.
Only love and hope go hand in hand.”
He turned and mounted his horse, the gallant steed
And the brave rode away,
And disappeared in the dark.
Many a days later the gallant steed returned but the lad wasn’t there.
A man came and explained in hushed tones.
The mother stood the- unflinching, unblinking- stone dead.
The weak soul of her body flew away.
The young lad and his mother are together now-
In a land where there are no wars, no pain, no anger and no greed.
Where only love and hope go hand in hand.

Labore et Constantia – War bores

a poem by

Sleepless I lie.
Leaves rustle under the pressure of their boots
The tall reverberate in resonance of their gunshots.
From a distance I hear the silence of a coordinated call.
From a distance I hear the sound of a half dark passage way.

I need some rain or some black, some red or some white
To camouflage my hidden sleeplessness;
I need some dreams to pretend.
Some hopes to try

Sleepless I lie in the soldier’s march.

Two men suddenly come my way
They ask, “Are you Mr. Our very Own?
Why then do you lie in this ordinary!
Why then do your eyes look suspiciously at us?
Get up Sir! They call you!”

In my borrowed silky fabric (intended to hide an infected organ)
I walk, bewildered, yet half assured of no harm
The boots, comfortably, behind me,
Trailing me with foreign sincerity,
Pushing me when I lose my way.

They say, “Don’t be afraid.
We are not here to kill you!
You belong to us
Without you we lose our dignity
Without you we are not soldiers anymore.”
“Walk some distance, Sir.”
“We are nearing the train.”

Uneasy seconds graduate to uneasy minutes.
Sleeplessness half lost into obscurity
I plead them to shout my name again!
“You are Our very Own sir, Our very Own!”
Trust your soul.

Sleepless I lie in the soldier’s march.

Today I am not going to let them take me Away.