The Smoke That Stinks


vikas chandra

Whose specter soars, in saturnine sky
With the dying soul, of a million cries
Which God of Hate, they deify
Are patriots means, to a nation’s lies!

Why smolders soil, with the seeds of wrath
When life glorifies, debauch of death
Wails a land baptized, with clans’ bloodbath
When chokes with pain, her lingering breath!

Of charring flesh, spent shells of doom
And putrid pride, of nations’ men
The smoking gun, its looming plume
Resounds whose psalm of victory, amen!

Men’s love for war, and holocaust
And lust for blood, its lasting jinx
No battle won, sans the human cost
No war ever-lost, sans The Smoke That Stinks!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra

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