Best War Zone Poems
for Aidan in row 5
At the edge of the sky, there is a crimson slash
seen through the leafy scrolling of trees that soldier
the perimeter of the lake. Overhead there is only
gray, as in the war zone of my heart where there have
been far too many casualties. Lamplight in a window,
abruptly extinguished, takes out what illuminated
a mid-November Crepe Myrtle, aflame with
leaves destined to fall; yet, it rises regally red
in royal transformation, before the dark comes. Then,
with no preamble, a carnelian blush spreads
the clouds as if punctured with a pin. There is always
the unexpected. So, Take heart. "Be of good cheer,"
parting words from my dying friend, Cyndy, from her
hospital bed. "Be there when I come," I reply.
Even so these days, I cannot stop grieving for the lost
and missing. At noon Mass on Sundays, a boy, four or five,
heavy glasses dominating a small face beneath a luxurious
crown of curls--the image of my dark haired, sweet-armful child
of the past--sits on the floor in safety between his parents'
chairs. He's busy with his books and toys, until he's told
it's time to go to the priest at the altar, and they
help him to his feet. Come, he will, but not alone--
clasping in his two hands his necessary companions:
soldiers, centurions perhaps, the protection of a Praetorian
Guard; talismans and amulets, with which he would not
part. As for myself, I have none of these, not of plaster,
not of flesh, but if I could hold this boy in my arms,
I believe he would heal my heart
Oh! You crazy kids of war zone,
I hate your painful cries that pierce my heart just as pebble or stone.
Oh! You filthy creature who do survive amongst blood & cadevar so well,
In such danger & atrocities I wonder how do u dwell?
Oh! U disgusting children who still dream of food, dress & toys ;
'Perhaps u are devoid of pain receptors and emotions' , I think so! about u poor boys.
Those powerful leaders who think this way & could stop this evil of war, I don't know for what reason silent they do stay?
So I poetess "FaraHaseeb" took the courage to put fro this & dare to say.
But I feel for you darling children; that one day it's gona be your victory.
As lord of the lords knows your pain & he promises 'after every hardship is an ease' & that's not contradictory.
Oh! Poor kids may your ceremony of birth & death around the globe could be different,
But the pain u all undergo similar to me it always meant.
So just hold your patience & courage a bit more soon to the world your innocence n wound would be revealed,
& that day those white collared dirt would be exposed and to hide with fake dignity they won't be able to find any veil.
I open the door to the bathroom
The girls having just had their bath
And what greets my eyes, I can only
Describe as a nuclear aftermath!
The carpet is perfectly sodden
It’s been bombarded with towels and clothes
Trickling down tiles is a long sticky mess
From the shower gel that wasn’t closed,
The bath sides are covered in shrapnel
Bottle tops, bubble bath and shampoo
With a blanket of talcum fallout
Covering the toilet, sink and floor too,
With the hostiles tucked into pyjamas
At least warfare, now, can cease
But it’s going to take forever
To bring this ‘war zone’, peace,
As I get to the end of the cleaning
The girls’ father comes walking in
“Is the water hot enough for a bath?”
And the holocaust starts again!
I sit at my desk, an unremarkable posture
Crooked back, crouched forward
Hands, shaped like lobster claws
Ready to pounce on the invisible prey
However, my quarry is a thought, not yet set to reveal itself
Scrambled thoughts of memories ferment
Oozing out and dropping to the floor
Trampled on
A phrase or two lifts and permeates through my fingers
A loud click of the keyboard, followed by another
A symphony of automatic gunfire
This is a war zone
A killing field
Then silence
Coffee at nine
Internet browsing for the rest of the morning
Start
WAR ZONE
Sound of gunfire boomed all around
Amid the ruins of dilapidated buildings
Men in combat uniforms lurked in anticipation
Resembled zombies, which gave eerie feelings
Two snipers in ghillie suits
Face smeared in camouflage paints
Lay on their bellies with telescopic guns
Attention focused like praying saints
Their target was an ammunition store
About hundred meters down the road
Their orders were to kill the guards
And cause the bombs to explode
The guards saw them and fired
Hitting one of them in the chest
The other came to his rescue
To save his life he tried his best
Blood splattered across his face
His clothes became crimson red
His vision began to get blurred
Due to the amount of blood he bled
He recalled their meeting the night before
He grew emotional about daughter six years old
He wanted to return home after the war
And spend time with her, that’s what he told
He looked up and said in a melancholy voice
“Time’s is running out, I can’t see her again
Please meet her after I’m gone and tell her
I tried to preserve my life for her, but in vain”
As the last words escaped his trembling lips
His body became limp as he dropped his head
His bloodied body lay on his friend’s lap
With eyes open, but he was dead
His friend emptied the gun on the ammunition store
As a sign of solidarity with his departed soul
It exploded with a loud boom into a ball of fire
And looked like a huge chunk of burning coal
He lay there for sometime ruminating
Trying to come to terms with reality
The other members of his unit arrived
And removed them from the debris
End
flesh ... torn, mangled
faces wailing, stricken
gutters steep in coagulated blood
blood splatter silent moon.
My life is under attack
Enemies hiding in shadows
Snipers, ruining me so silently
Fighting an enemy I can't see
No hands to hold
Everyone is against me
Including you
The insides of me
Betraying me
Twisting me into despair
Grab your weapon
Target right at me
But watch me stand after each hit
Because I am better than these shadows
Take a step back,
After each blow
Then regain myself
I don't need a gun
I don't need you
I don't want it either
Keep targeting me
Knocking me down
I am saving it all up
To come running,
Attacking you all
Shattering this world
Once I am free
Life will be different
Wait and see
Always had a dream to be different
To stand out
To be important, this is me
War Zone
Rapid bullet pops
echo through midnight, chasing
away the old year.
Next-door is a nuclear war zone
Where furniture flew from windows
And screams echoed endlessly
Where holes filled the walls
And hearts quickly turned cold
It stands now, though broken
And we are all split
By an imaginary line
That even the sun can recognize
We weren’t killed by this war
But we were scarred forever
I admit, within every human relation
That there exists no true control.
There's always a chance of tribulation
But connection be always the goal.
We seek souls that bring us balance
And to help us feel complete.
When two souls together dance,
With it no feeling can compete.
But with love comes days of sorrow,
With secret tears being held at bay;
When one must question a tomorrow
And never quite knowing what to say.
Sometimes too much time feeling alone
Searching for the right words to share
How my mind is so often a war zone
And how moments of peace are rare.
War zone, battles we fight alone
Fears and desires spiral
Divine light sees darkness begone
As bliss throbs go viral
Thoughts rest, desires recede
Will to God, we concede
Allowing love to lead
Disown
War zone
12-November-2021
Quietus
Burning and blazing meteors fell on my right and left
Is it from heaven or hell, why can’t they spare me just?
Searching for food I came, not for this war I detest!
Won second place in Threesome Poetry Contest sponsored by Silent One
The flashes of light
The darkness of night
My eyes won’t turn away
From this strangely beautiful sight
Thunder roars and shakes my bed
The war zone is breaking loose
Tons of thought fill my head
But none run clear to count
Lights are flickering
Fear fills the minds of the fearful
Who knows nothing of this battle
To which not I fight
But is fought over me
Could I count the casualties
No not one
For that realm is unspoken,
Untouched and misunderstood
Yet one day when it’s over
It is I who will rise to victory
For I have already chosen the winning side
And I stand unshaken
I am a mosaic of strength,
built from pieces of scars and stars,
loving fiercely, too fiercely perhaps,
and wrapped tight in the armor of over-care.
I am not counterfeit, nor a shadowed ghost
but real, pulsing with heart and hurt,
loving with all that I have,
and more than I ever learned how to hold.
If I’ve wounded you, those I cherish and call mine,
it was never meant in malice, never a blade with intent,
only the ripple of choosing myself
in a life that once taught me I couldn’t.
For I am not just a person but a battlefield,
where every breath is a truce or a clash,
unlearning the scripts of survival I wore,
for too many years, too close to my skin.
And so, I stand here, raw and at odds,
fighting with ghosts of lessons learned wrong,
with the past that etched survival into my bones—
apologizing, humbly, to each of you who has felt
the tremors of my chaos, my endless undoing.
I never meant to be a storm that shakes,
to bring the weight of my history to bear on love.
I am sorry for the moments I’ve left you uncertain,
sorry if my battles spilled onto your shores.
But know that I carry hope,
a glimmer that one day I’ll be at peace with myself,
that the battles within will soften and quiet,
and I’ll emerge whole, not a shell, but the true me—
the person you know I’m fighting to become.
And I hold a dream, a wish wrapped in faith,
that each of you will still stand by my side,
when I come out the other side of this war,
when my chaos has settled into calm.
Thank you, each of you, for bearing witness
to this storm that crashes and stills,
for loving me through the war-zone of myself.
As a war journalist, my new assignment
took me to the side-line of the Elfin war zone,
where I found an old tavern,
a long-time community center for the travelers and locals,
flocking to meet, share stories and unwind
in the cozy rustic milieu,
that preserved the essence of social camaraderie
and congenial hospitality with a touch of familiarity.
The patrons heartily drank pints of chilled beer,
that the owner proudly called Old Ale,
brewed specially and aged properly
to get the strength and the darkness
with the sweet malty flavor of dried fruits
that I found immensely invigorating.
I heard the staff and patrons converse animatedly
about the current status of the on-going war not far,
where the Elves, the oldest Middle-earth species,
were fiercely engaged with Morgoth and his clan
for hundred years, with Feanor as their leader,
who found natural ally with the humans,
and was supported by the Elven adventurers.
I came to know that many long-lived Elves
had grown weary of the long-drawn war,
and had returned to Aman where the Elves had settled.
Those who stayed in the Middle-earth
were close to their long-cherished goal
of establishing their own kingdom.