Deep beneath the conscience of the sky

a paradise is withering,

and a demystifying cadavery

bores into its life,

There is a dismal spell

that cackles, and claws

that dwindle with foretold defeat,

the defeat of life

The soil cries,

as it kisses blood involuntarily

and the clouds moan,

it's raining arrows,

the blight of war looms!

and mottles the leaves of peace

You would marvel at the

wizardry of the shrapnels

and how their breathe of fire,

sells tickets to hell,

by the devil's franchise

war, the mighty artist,

the exact painting of disaster

and the reward

for misunderstanding,

in the museum of differences,

trust is beheaded

and militance continues to

paint the picture of corpses

and the battery of innocence

babies crying,

fathers dying

and mothers crying

war is the mosaic effect

that discolours their skin

into death,

till they rot and merge

with the soil,

and become the

tattered clay of misery

as the wailing clock ticks.

                                                By Kakraba Afful