Never had, a war, been, such delayed
Like a funeral, of, many lingering tombs
Men die, each day, until, they are slayed
Mothers learn, to mourn, their ravished wombs
And a, vanquished state, her dream betrayed!
Never, had death, dared, and bared, so long
Life’s, fear of faith, and, faith in fear
Like a bull, swooning, to a, matador’s song
“My glory’s cross, you’re, born to bear”!
It seems, to be, same, vain cold war
Neither US, won, nor Russia, lost
With, new façades, that, old metaphor
Still, Bares to bone, sham, of glasnost!
Let’s see, how, each brinkman, determines
Gamble, of war, o’er, peace’s parlay
Russian Roulette, here, no one wins
Whilst Counting Coffins Every Day … !
© 2022 Vikas Chandra