i
Bombs fall like rain;
there’s no umbrella for war;
blood of the dead flows.
ii
War has no conscience;
its means justifies its end:
a negative good.
iii
Evacuation—
the plight of the walking dead:
War kept the rest.
iv
The flower of peace—
shedding her petals and seeds:
fertile soils smiling.
v
Opened war wounds wait—
healing needs a helping hand:
Peace threads her needle.