The Blood-stained Summit

At the pinnacle of our nation,

There lies a stunning mountainous range,

With clouds in an azure heaven,

Reflecting the cotton fields under which they change.

Contradictory to its marvellous beauty, 

Grotesque disaster struck at the summit,

For many were assailed, reaching their ends crudely,

“Due to their denomination”, was the irrational justification of it.

Upon hearing of this,

The world erupted into chaos,

Administrations conferred, and the public were furious,

But little did they know, more was to come after this grievous loss.

Soon darkness covered cities like a cold blanket,

Accompanied by wailing sirens and petrified screams,

For deadly fireworks filled the sky and caused an alarming racket,

And the two nations in conflict dispatched their war teams.

After four long days of May,

There was a finally a halt to the madness,

“The war had ceased”, so they say,

But all know of the debris left behind: fury and sadness.

It disappoints me that the world still remains like this,

Fueling conflict through a mere cultural difference,

Why must we thrive on hatred like this?

By continuing to act as we are, all that is left will be a pathetic vociferance.