Horrors Of War

WAR- the old view it with indifference, the middle aged and the young look at it with fear. Children no doubt consider war as romantic- they jump into the battle-field with blazing guns and return home to a hero’s welcome. They think that all kinds of medallions would be bestowed on them for their bravery.
However, make no mistake about this, war is a grim business where you either have to kill or get killed.
You will have to butcher your fellow men towards whom you bear no animosity. You may have to bear bullet injuries, you have to accept the risk that a grenade could land and explode any moment between your legs.
You could also be bought down by chemical and bacterial warfare. Mutilated bodies, shrapnel-torn flesh, limbs and shreds of skin and bones can be witnessed on a battlefield. At first you would be nauseated, but soon you would accept this and lose your idea of the value of human lives. You could witness your best friend reaching death’s door and may hear the news of your family having perished in an air-raid.
Your zest for living would be destroyed. States and old Polish saying:” Blood and destruction shall be so in use and dreadful objects so familiar that even mother’s will smile when they behold their infants quartered by the hands of war.” Before the 20th century, people were convinced that “Wars may come and wars may go but mankind will live on forever.” But when man found out how to split an atom this idea changed quite considerably. The nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki clearly demonstrated their superb capability for destruction. And man gleefully set out to make improvements in quantity and quality of the bombs.
A cold war is raging now and nervous itchy fingers are hovering over the buttons that could release thousands of missiles all over the world. Of course nations protest that they possess missiles only for peace and disclaim all possibilities of war. But wars have been started by diplomatic misunderstandings and military mistakes. Missiles can malfunction and emerge from silos to streak towards their predetermined targets. Even as you read this and look out of the window to see why the light outside has grown so dim, do not be surprised to see a mushroom shaped nuclear cloud.
Some people maintain that man who has survived holocausts throughout ages will surely survive the agony of the third world war. But can you imagine man emerging out of radiation waste with horribly mutilated limbs. Will this creature qualify to be called MAN?
Now it is the time to realize that we are puppets who dance every time to the time of a score of powerful manipulators all over the world. These men must realize that they have been assigned a sacred task as trustees of nations to preserve peace and hand over power to their successors with the world intact when their time is over.
We, the young people, children of today, adults of tomorrow, successors of the next generation, must make a plea that a little oasis of peace be made in the desert of hostility, that we may stretch it to a fertile plain of hope, joy, happiness and contentment.

Withered Rose

He is like a withered rose, addicted to the pain.
Trapped within this world, he has only himself to blame.
He can see the road ahead clearly, it’s a storm of thunder rain.
Yet he marches on, for he knows from this he cannot refrain.

His voice has lost its charm, he needs it back to clear the darkness.
Eyes of fire, his constant desires, he has lost it all in one go.
I pity for this boy for he pretends to be strong.
He pretends to be clever, he pretends to see the wrongs.

They break his thorns and rip off his petals, yet he has to return to them with just one call.
What power do they posses over him that would make such a strong boy fall?
I feel sorry for this boy, for he has become a puppet in their show.
Ready to dance on their commands, they laugh at him and he doesn’t even know.

My heart aches for him, as I fear the very worst.
Will he ever see the light or is he destined to live this curse?
I have not any words left for him, they’ve been preached so many times before.
and just as it seems that he has finally understood… they will knock and he will have to answer the door.

As each day goes by, I will mourn this rose.
Slowly fading away from his head to the tips of his toes.
I cry for him inside where no one can see..
For I am him and sadly this withered rose is me.

The Bachelor

There was a young fellow,
His mother named him Jim
And all the girls around
Were half in love with him
But Jim was a strange boy
And liked to stay at home
Witling on a stick
And playing all alone
And years passed by
With not a change in sight
For Jim was determined
Not to have a wife
And though all the girls tried
Jim never gave them a look
And all the girls were sad
For never a wife Jim took
Then a girl came to town
On a bright new day
Pretty as a peacock,
With quite a lot to say
And then came the day
She met young Jim
And she determined that
She was gonna marry him
So she took her mothers veil
And her pappy’s gun
And she went to visit Jim
And ‘persuaded’ him to come
And before Jim could wink
He had himself a wife
And darned if he weren’t happy
For the rest of his life

The Santa’s High

Well here I sit on Christmas Eve all alone,
nothing stirring through this so-called home….
My sister wished me a Merry X-mas weeks ago,
and my old man is with his stanky old hoe…..
I light up my bowl and take a long awaited draw,
hoping that Old Saint Nick pays me a call….
The silence was broken with the dogs barking,
then I heard upon the roof Santa parking…..
Down the fireplace he came in such a hurry,
that for a moment everything was really blurry….
I just sat in my chair and rolled up a blunt,
we toked and talked about my man and his cunt….
He told me his story as we finished our smoke,
and I said that I’m here if he needed to toke….
He gave me his thanks as he went up the fireplace,
his eyes where glazed and a smile on his face….
He reached his sled and cussed as he took a fall,
I laughed when to his boys this he did call….
Dash away my boys and help me make the night,
because right now Santa is one hell of a sight….
And as they zig-zagged off my roof into the sky,
I heard Santa say thanks for such a great high

A Soldier’s War

He walked out and settled to the sand

Thinking fondly of his daughter’s small hand

He watched closely from his post

Thinking of the people who loved him most

He was a father, a husband this soldier brave

Blood and sweat for his country he gladly gave

He had a wife, a daughter ,a son,

He waited anxiously for the war to be won

Over to his right was his buddy, amere boy

Who was his parents pride and joy

The boy was just twenty years of age

He knew nothing of wars old wage

Yells and shouts erupted from the night

The boy was scared, this was his first fight

The boy and the veteran settled closer to the ground

As shots peppered the sand around

They returned fire hard and fast

Knowing the fight would no longer last

Moonlight flickered of the youngster’s gun

As bullets hit the boy so young

The veteran’s heart beat with fear

For his buddy’s screams he could plainly hear

The enemy ceased fire and moved away

Feeling that they had done their work for the day

The boy in the sand lay still

No more with patriotic pride to fill

The man knelt by the boy who for his country had died

He rubbed the cold hands and softly cried

Over in a foreign land they were slain

But none of our soldiers ever died in vain

War is a tragedy, it’s true

But sometimes war is the right thing to do

But one must never forget the favours done to us by them,

Saving us always from war’s wicked game.