War

A poem by Paritosh Anand

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The ego of a man to get his way,

Of gigantic tantrums if night isn’t called day.

His mind was an engine, fed on delusional fuel,

Reality was different, so he turned cruel.

He felt small and weak, and sidelined

It kept him awake, troubled his mind.

He climbed atop his ivory tower,

Conjured a plan to ‘restore great power’.

His home was the biggest by land mass

His ego was, though, as fragile as glass.

On seeing his neigbours join a stronger group,

He got scared and assembled a troop

Knocked at his neighbour’s at night,

Didn’t get his way, used all might

With a loud thud, broke down the door.

Fired and killed, and killed some more.

The neighbour mustered resistance,

Unlike he had thought,

That kept weakening his pocket,

And a dozen other things it brought.

The world started cutting ties,

Imposed bans, made him a pariah.

He felt the weight of his own lies,

As his Fire was met with Fire.

In matter of hours, he was titled a villian

He lost respect, and hundreds of men

The same respect that he wanted to earn

Alas, look, this puny man had reached point of no return.

In a few days,

As the dust will settle,

And his pockets will run dry,

The landgrab will sizzle,

He will be left high and dry.

As the world will heal from the bleed

Years down his epitaph will read-

The ego of a man to get his way,

Of gigantic tantrums if night isn’t called day.

— -

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