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When silence breaks with a siren's cry,
And ash clouds darken the morning sky,
Two nations rise with wrathful might,
Blind to peace, prepared to fight.

Where rivers flowed through fields so wide,
Now burn with rage on either side.
Flags once fluttered in monsoon air,
Now mark the graves of young laid bare.

The tanks roll in, the bombers fly,
The missiles arc across the sky.
Steel and fire tear the dawn apart,
Each strike a wound to the human heart.

And then the flash — a blinding white,
Day turns to dusk, and noon to night.
Mushroom clouds in dreadful bloom,
Cities fall in silent gloom.

No victors left, no songs to sing,
Only echoes of what war will bring:
Children charred, and mothers weep,
Fathers buried in endless sleep.

The air is poison, the soil is dead,
The living envy those who bled.
No border now, just common pain,
Shared by the ash and acid rain.

What was it for — this fatal pride,
That turned the world to suicide?
India, Pakistan — names now lost,
To power's game and mankind’s cost.

Oh leaders drunk on hate and fear,
Is this the glory you held dear?
Let this be written, carved in stone:
Peace is a seed, war reaps a tomb.

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