So,
tanks rolled out on the desert
And shells lit up the night
All that was noble was forgotten
In the red heat of the fight.
The MIGs and the Tornadoes blocked out the
sun
Tridents and Exocets rolled upon the surf
Each eager to see their foe undone,
To bring the rout of the infidels upon their
own turf.
So the armies raised their battle cries
And clashed at the battle – line,
And sanguine rivers ran in torrents
As if stained with wine.
And in the blasted cities,
And on the ravaged plains,
Lay the tortured people,
In an odyssey of pain.
But the armies rallied undaunted
Like war machines possessed,
With half a million living
And three times as many dead.
They slashed and burned their highway
To the enemy’s doom,
Black rains of terror fell on the land
From the darkest clouds of gloom.
They unleashed in their fury
Savagery untold,
The barbarous deeds of Atilla
Were outdone manifold.
And when the dust had settled
And the fires died,
They began to count the dead
And
couldn’t comprehend…
Why their crusade for victory
And the glory they had craved
Had turned their gallant nation,
Into a colossal, wretched grave.
Ranjith Mohan, XII A
