As if he had broken his promise
and slipped away,
as if eternity itself
had been a secret covenant between us.

“Ahmed, son of all,”
his mother whispered,
then folded her voice into silence
for silence was gentler
than the weight of evening.

O Houriya,
did you not see?
Today the country gathered its sorrow,
and from every house a cry rose
a child carried away,
a child returned to dust.

"Long Khan Province, 10 July 1969.
               The contact report, it stated..."
 
I remember Raymond K at Woodside,
Sitting on the bed next to mine.
He was sewing buttons on a shirt and wincing
At my *****, ribald, song.
It was not so much my singing (which was loud)
But the stupid, foul profanity which he hated.
Nowadays, I think I've changed but Ray hasn't;
Ray can't, he's dead.
And you will never, ever put to right that wrong,
But needs must carry it forever,
With you in your head.

Although I sleep so sound at night
In my mind rumbles an endless fight
Each side believes that they'll get more
Make no mistake: this is war.

In my mind, I live alone
Inside a house of cobblestone
There are no neighbors, and the fight is violent
But inside the house, it gets too silent

The thunder clashes with the ground
The demons fire off another round
Angels strike them with their bows
So round 'n' round the battle goes

Why they fight, I cannot discern
The demons cheer with each soul they earn
Lost souls gather to find their way
Falling victim, becoming prey

An angel falls, a demon dies
Such things happen when fighting lies
Each side is right, but both are wrong
Both cry out their battle song

The truth of war, the why they fight
Is sealed up in a copyright
Action stars and movie scenes
To drown out the righteous screams

An angel saves a soul at last
The battlefield feels so less vast
A total of souls saved was seven
They were blessed to get to Heaven

Angels and demons call a truce
The victim puts away their noose
For once at last, peace is found
Thus ends the savage battleground

Then the darkness comes back 'round
Just when they found their common ground
It starts again, just like before
Make no mistake: this is war.

On our differences,
the powerful capitalize,
creating the “Us versus Them” paradigm,
and cutting us to size.
“Divide and conquer” is
their modus operandum,
swinging our emotions  
like the oscillations of a pendulum.
Science and arts are the restoring forces
that bring us together,
and strive to lighten our burden
down to the weight of a feather.
Artists show us the beauty of the world.
Scientists help us understand the world.
But the forces of division are mighty.
Divisions lead to war,  
a most lucrative enterprise,
with fortunes to be made,  
and power to be gained.
Love leads to material loss.
To love is to put the welfare of others first.
Who would do that?
Only fools and dreamers, they claim,
unaware of the human shark  
going for the ****,  
under the cover of the dark.
The victim’s loss is the victor’s gain,
who, when fully satisfied
feints friendship and peace once again.
But only for a short while,
until the next war  
promises a bigger loot by far.

a war rages on inside my brain
two voices dominate the rest,
as one call for more guns and bombs
it's only aim to cause damage,
the other whispers for peace
with a soft voice thats not fit for combat,
all it can do is silently gain support
of innocent onlookers

inside your head do fatalities also rise
at the hands of bullets that strangle soft voices,
does your heart wish for peace
wailing against the sound of warfare

I look deep into your eyes
for any clues for the victor,
wondering if my words did help
or get drowned out by screams

For years I fought something only I could see,
A battlefield etched in the silence of me.
The foe was mine, yet I could not yield,
A fight contained in an unmarked field.

I clashed with shadows that wore my face,
Each strike within left a deeper trace.
Fighting hard just to stand or breathe,
A battleground I couldn’t command or leave.

But time wore thin, the noise fell still,
The air grew thick, the ground unfilled.
No victor crowned, no flag was claimed,
Just ruined trenches and a captive unchained.

Not quite peace, but free from pain,
A quiet place where hope’s restrained.
No joy to chase but tears is no more,
Just steady breathing — after the war.

I stand beside these rank, grassed, mounded piles of soil
'Neath which the mouldering dead lie in repose.
Their mode of death reflects, I guess, the toil
We made of living then, which is fair enough.
Though what was it do you suppose
They thought about and lived life for?
That question might be too tough
For any one person's answer; too severe.
And Heaven only knows
The forgotten wisdom
That lies now buried here.