Another war wages amidst the seas of time,

Armadas of emotion; lost in the brine,

Needlessly, souls depart from this plane,

As the lethal rose of war spills and stains.

Can one entity make a difference in this foreign welter?

Or from the pain and suffering, should we seek shelter?

Blood is the passion of humanity's hidden urge,

Red like the fires of ardour in our being.

Suffering is the intent of this hostile surge,

Society, a mask, to prevent this behemoth from seeing.

Will conflict be forever imbued in the tapestry of civilisation?

Or will our desires be driven away by a final realisation?

Blades and bullets may penetrate our skin,

For ancestry, religion and the pain they bring,

Empty war has no honour; death has no conclusion,

The thorny crown of peace; a worthless illusion?

Were people created only to destroy, to devastate?

Is this our reality; our unalterable fate?

Soldiers and innocents, there is no difference,

They die together; like death's hunting game.

We insist on fighting, waiting for our deliverance,

Because in war and peace all is the same