Glory and War—I
Shan't you see the smoke
In the battlefield;
The bone that broke
Of the youth who stood steeled?

Shan't you see how against the shock-wave,
Of the very winter of life
Pallid he stood upon his coming grave
An enfeebled-child left in this great strife?

Shan't you be the witnesses,
Of how the fields of dandelions,
Turned to crimson grounds laid with carcasses;
Of how even the dead upon your deed grimaces?

Have you marchers of infamy
That gratify on victory and bloodied bodies,
With prideful flags of blasphemy

Seen how the quivering hand buries?



P.S.— I wrote this a few months back after being highly touched by Wilfred Owens' poetry. Many of you might already know- he was a war-poet(during the WW1 era) and an English soldier. He died a tragic death at the age of just 25 years in action 1 week before the end of the war. He left behind a behest of heart-wrenching poetry, an unforgettable legacy. The works that I loved the most were 'Dulce et decorum est', 'Apologia pro Poemate Meo' and 'Arms and the Boy', 'The Strange Meeting' and many others.
His works are something that evoke utter helplessness inside you. How we are puppets in the hands of each other. How 'Glory' is a tenacious lie that continues to live on the pedestal of Wars.

How it's all so horribly,
nearly irrevocably wrong...

~the universe in her
© z.f.