Forevermore

By Sriya Bhavaraju

An intricate dance of blood and gore,

The clashing of steel, harsh and cold.

For eons are these stories told,

Till the dashing soldiers breathe no more;

But now their armours are weighted with lies,

The steel they wield has shrunk in size;

The elephants and drums have gone away,

The New Age leading the world astray.

The tools of massacre shake the core,

The wails of despair, a thunderous roar;

When fidelity is valued by the wealth it brings,

Is perpetuated war really a noble thing?

These tales of terror are called noble and true,

Spreading through collections of blood red hues;

Are these really heroes of faith?

Or are they death’s new right-hand wraith?

When innocents are slaughtered throughout the land,

All for the sake of a political band,

Are we really to sit in fright?

Cowering together at their collective might?

Are we really to salute their name?

Until we too are caught in their game?

Guardians or executioners at a dice’s throw,

Like a pendulum swinging to and fro;

They stand together as an impenetrable wall,

Which doesn’t seem to break now fall.

Are these really warriors of yore?

Or monsters glorified forevermore?

By Sriya Bhavaraju