TWILIGHT, 21 March 2003

The sky has two monarchs on this twilight.
King Sun and Queen Moon look down together
on the turmoiled earth
united in majesty
like two conferring ministers
fretful about the welfare of our fragile globe.

Battles are raging again.
Armies of men savage one another,
bombs are dropping
with a thunder once reserved for heaven.

The clash has delayed the sun
and hastened the moon;
the firmament sinks down in sadness
as it witnesses the ancient tragedy
of men at war in open theatres.

Nature did not intend
to have her fields plowed by tanks
or watered by the blood of the fallen.
Her liberal hand
smoothed plains, carved mountains, ran rivers
but etched no borders on the land
and at this crepuscular crisis
the machinery of war
overruns her sanctified home
as our custodial lords look on in disbelief.


Battles are lost, battles are won
the cruelties of the war go on,
no one seems to hold the power,
triumph changes by the hour,
though one side claims to be ahead
it matters little to the dead.


A moment that makes life thrilling:
watching a gathering of crows.
Then thoughts of war dead come chilling.
As every soldier rightly knows,
there's no god who favors killing.