War is like a beautiful woman luring in the youth,
Their boots thread the Earth and their hearts desire to reap its fruits.
And when the surge of courage diminishes and the bombs hail high,
Every young soul shall sigh.
War then becomes an old wrinkled, ugly, hag
That no one desires to be with or can hold onto its treacherous battle flag.
There are no more boots left that thread the Earth and no more hearts that desire.
And war has left mothers tears dry and their cries of “ya ibni” held in the heavens up high.
War has left the riches of cities buried under ashes,
And love lost in the midst of smoke from brutal, crimson clashes.
War has spilled blood on the dry Earth like numerous broken wine caskets.
Yet, we yearn war like war is everlasting.
War is a disease that the Prophet pbuh warned about.
So do not desire it, but if you must be brave and do not doubt.
For as the gates of hell break loose when war is here,
the gates of the seven heavens invite you in as your soul comes near.