The Echo of Iron- A Poem Against War

 

Beneath the flag, beneath the sun,

Where whispers die and rivers run,

The earth is bruised by boots of men,

Marching dreams to graves again.

The sky, once vast with hope’s embrace,

Now veils its light in smoke and haze.

The trees, the birds, the ancient hills,

All crushed beneath war’s iron will.

Who called for this, who cried aloud?

Not the children, cloaked in shrouds.

Not the mothers, bent in grief,

Nor fields that beg for sweet relief.

Steel does not weep, but hearts must break,

For every bomb, a soul it takes.

For every gun, a thousand cries,

For every march, a dream that dies.

O generals, kings, you builders of ash,

You write history with a bloody slash.

Your power is built on shattered bones,

Your thrones are carved from muted groans.

But hear the winds—how they rebel!

They carry stories war cannot quell.

Of hands that reached, of love that grew,

Of peace that bloomed where blood once drew.

Lay down your swords, your banners bright;

Let stars reclaim the shattered night.

For war is loud, but love is strong—

A thousand years, it sings its song.

The echo of iron will one day fade,

And all that remains is what peace made.