From The War Field Poem by mohanan viswambharan Nair

Fuzzy, mucky, gory earth,
Even stone is wretched in fright
Everywhere, there is a way,
It ends in the Doom -Well.

It says they are fated to a fall.
All have to wait for their turn.
Perchance, it is lucky to get a rest.
It doesn't mean a getaway forever.

A fatty lady scoffs at burned torsos,
While appears sound bites on the monitor.
A man strolls with a dead-on his back,
Falls, failing to over-weigh his grief

The losers bawl out to the monitor-
How can one tone down a massacre
You have no brain but flesh and fat'.
Whilst, the fatty declares no retreat from the war.

I saw a fainted leg and hand,
A mother finds comfort in misery
She kisses the remains of a child.
As if she felt her face his loving touches.

I looked at the child's head parted from the body
How was the naive and blissful on her lap?
Now his glee was splintered -
With the explosion came from far.

You can't go, without seeing this.
Like the Zionists endured the same from Nazis,
You're the next to the way to the Doom Well.
Beware; an arson is aimed at your dwelling.