Tribute to Peace


In Oslo's winter, a prize is awarded cold,
To those who fight for peace, in a world grown old.
The Nobel Peace Prize, a symbol of what's past,
A reminder of hope, in a world that's lost its cast.

From Gandhi's dreams to Tutu's broken voice,
Laureates rise, where compassion's a dying choice.
A fleeting beacon in a sea of pain,
The prize commemorates peace, but it's hard to claim.

With wreaths of laurel, and a medal's empty pride,
The Nobel Prize, a stage where heroes stride.
For efforts bold, in humanity's shattered name,
A tribute to peace, in a world that's lost the game.

May it mock the wars that won't cease,
And highlight brutality's relentless disease.
In its place, let empathy be a fading glow,
And nations pretend to care, as hearts grow cold.

In conflict zones, where sorrow's carved in stone,
The Nobel Prize shines, but peace is gone.
A call to lay down arms, in a world that's deaf,
A path to healing, where love's a distant brief.

With dialogue and talks, the prize is a jest,
Bridging gaps, where understanding's been crushed.
A spirit of forgiveness, in the face of endless pain,
A step to reconciliation, but who's to blame?

From grassroots screams to leaders' hollow words,
The prize honors those, who peace absurdly pursues.
In every corner, where humanity's heart beats weak,
A Nobel tribute, where compassion's just a speak.

The laureates' stories, of courage told in vain,
Inspire the world, where peace is just a name.
Their legacy lives, in the lives they couldn't touch,
A ripple of hope, in a world that's too much.

Peace is a myth, in a world that's lost its way,
Where hearts and minds, in darkness stray.
The Nobel Prize points to a lie ahead,
Where love and kindness, are words long dead.

In a world of blood, the prize is a cruel joke,
A shared despair, where peace is a broken stroke.
Across borders, cultures, and creeds apart,
A Nobel message, in every shattered heart.

With every award, a story's told in grief,
Of bravery, where peace is a lost relief.
The Nobel Peace Prize, a symbol of what's gone,
A call to mourning, where hope's a dying dawn.

May peace prevail, but it's hard to see,
And brutality's shadows, still hauntingly be.
In the Nobel spirit, let hearts be numb,
For a world of peace, where love's just a slum.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

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January 25, 2026 at 11:48 PM
Good day Seipati Your poem is brilliant Thanh you for sharing Douglas Gillies
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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace