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Poem

We wallow in the news of rapacious war,
Glad it is so far away, thank God!
But dare we ask: why do wanton warriors fight?
Like wild wasps out on an ill-fated foray,
sting like hell in the soporific summer sun.

The terrific, fierce fight goes on,
like some wild cat that smells an invader
in its blitzed up tribal territory.
Thunder and earthquakes 
as bombs fall on either side
distant rumblings killing prerequisite peace.

A crumbling city deprived of vital hope,
bereft of electricity and nutritious food,
while innocent frightened children 
writhe on fragmented pavements 
of deserted, stifled streets.

Their fault is they are born 
on the wrong side of earth from where arms originate.
The bloody fight goes on and on,
soldiers wildly staring, fearful and bewildered.
Both sides know only one answer:
They fight for fear 
but underneath hate reigns supreme.

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