War

This was the oldest poem I could find that I had written. A meaningful one that wasn't written for the sake of rhyme or for a story. (I remember writing one in 2000, was in the 6th std. about Houdini and a gun and an escape, I was / am crazy)

This was written round 2003/04 after the Iraq was invaded and the military overthrown. I read a moving story written by a few seniors and was inspired to pen down a poem.

War

The night was dark,
My mind darker still,
As in the village I saw,
The plight of those who dear I did kill.

I saw the bloody sight and paled,
At my horrific deed, I was greatly ashamed,
And all the pride of winning that I had claimed,
Crashed! As for those deaths, I was to be blamed.

Near a half-eaten, destructed hut,
Stood a little girl, in deep painful sorrow,
Hear tearful eyes brown and sombre
Her face palely beautiful, her mouth thin-lipped and shut.

Tears did her eyes on her cheek splatter
Like pearls embedded on a silver platter,
Gentle dewdrops on the face of a rose,
At me she threw an accusing cold stare; As time stopped, my blood froze.

"Murderer" screamed that one voice
It stood out amidst the wails and cries.
Her young, shrill voice did in sorrow break down.
In guilt, misery and shame did my mind drown.

She did so resemble my daughter,
All of just twelve years old.
But, the evil of war had transformed her,
Into a fighting spirit, young but bold

Her father she was mourning for,
Orphaned by me was she,
From her dear father, her had I tore,
And this is turn, gnawed and tore me

In her eyes, guilty did I plead,
For I had done that dreadful deed,
What did she know? This was war's need.
I understood War's futility, its undying hunger, its greed.

I walked up to my cabin,
And found my gun, sleek and thin
I held it up to my forehead,
And fired, I then saw my body slump down, cold and dead.

The night was dark,
My spiriti troubled and darker, still....

- Thriddas Anorak