The Call Of Catastrophe Sarcasm has a side in reality,
With a rebel in his
blood,
He is found guilty.
Committing a sin,
By nurturing an evil grin.
He shouts his voice loud,
When only peace that matters,
It’s too heavy to be found.
With his barrel he roars,
It’s a cause of vindication,
The blood in his pain pours.
The sound so distant,
It unleashes the bars,
It’s the call of catastrophe
In the name of war.
Power seeks the blood of kings,
With the roll of cannons,
A blasphemous joy it brings.
The cause of peace remains hidden,
It’s a holy apple,
Which is highly forbidden.
The cause is diplomacy,
That’s the misanthrope’s label,
Like an untold tale,
Which sounds like a fable.
Killing the hope ,
A king becomes The Tsar.
Burying the sorrows,
When catastrophe becomes war.
It’s the time,
When the rebel strikes back,
Is he still fighting for peace,
The question now colours grey to black
Now the rainbow of souls
Descends on earth,
The gloom with magnity,
The life is at dearth.
To find the reason,
The rebel gets stressed,
As the cry is for justice,
With sadism surfaced.
Still these thoughts remain untrue,
It’s the hands of power,
Surviving to construe.
Finally the peace becomes the mar.
It’s just the call of catastrophe,
Blessed in the name of war.