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Poetry 2011 Third Prize
 
 

War by my Window                             

By Shantam Goyal

A Transparent stretch within the wall,
and a grey sky peering through it,
the window calls me, I obey.

Never have the walls seemed so rough, the glass so stained,
Sitting near the window pane, never has it so pained.

The sky roars in agony, as the sword of light cuts across its skin,
the world shudder, for its bearers are fighting it in.

Grass forms pools, and the soil concocts mud,
a realization grabs me, the sky is losing blood.

I want to run, I want to help, but my brevity dies,
the blood runs down the window, staring at me like countless shining eyes.

Most meet the ground, some stain the distant tree,
all in one echoed tap, breaking up with glee.

Why are they happy, why do they cheer,
when they always know while falling, that their end is near.

The understanding dawns upon me, the sky still roaring,
its is why they're there, and will always keep going.

The chatter stops, the war has come to an end,
the blood departs, I have lost a friend.

They show me, though, the ray of a new dawn,
Anything may end, but life goes on.


Never have the walls seemed so guiltless, the glass so clear,
Sitting near the window pane, never, to me, has it been so dear.