Konstantinos Konstantinidis – Amphiktyon
War is no patch to tear away,
but wounds that open, never stay;
it shakes the markets, stirs the throne,
and makes the weak atone—alone.
Once it begins, none truly know
how far it spreads, how deep the blow;
who lives, who dies, what’s left to see,
what life remains of what will be.
“War fathers all”—so sages tell,
yet it forges earth into a hell.
Who dares ignite that fatal flame
must weigh it well before the blame;
before the steel his flesh shall meet,
before the innocent burn in heat.
For arrogance demands its due—
by gods and men repaid, and true.
A leader’s burden must be wise:
no conquest cloaked in soothing lies;
before you march through fire’s door,
ask the oracle once more:
“If not for homeland, just and right—
do not begin this deadly fight.”
War is no jest—it twists the whole,
no turning back, no steady goal;
like fire it runs where winds command,
and drags the doomed to death’s cold land.
Yet some grow rich in chaos grim,
sharp hawks who profit from the dim.
One by one they join the dance,
while fate conducts its dark romance;
and when the music plays askew,
Hormuz grows narrow—leaders fall too.
The Gulf—the womb of wealth untold—
yet Ares waits in straits of gold;
if birth goes wrong, he strikes the spark,
and sets the world itself to dark.
Fool is he who dares to try—
“a black hole waits,” the seers would cry.
Poseidon, too, will claim his right:
no ship shall sail, no guiding light;
the sea and sky with poison filled,
the trembling world in silence stilled.
And like a Gorgon, cold and grim,
the Gulf will turn all life to stone within.
They built on sand their fragile reign,
when oil runs dry, all hope is vain;
no tourist sun, no golden shore
shall save what was as once before.
War hardens hearts, breaks flesh and bone,
leaves some to die, some maimed, alone;
and in a nuclear, final breath,
what lives will shadow walk with death.
The arrogant sees none above,
his tongue outruns the mind thereof;
as if a demon leads his way—
three nations suffer day by day:
Iran, Lebanon, Israel—
in grief and fire, their stories dwell.
The masses move like herded sheep;
strike down the shepherd—none to keep;
the fold will fall to foreign hand—
such madness rules the shaken land.
Power hides beyond the sight:
in “democracies” masked as right,
in theocracies ruled by fear,
where truth dissolves and fades unclear.
A few enlightened voices stand,
against the warlords of the land;
yet systems crush them, bind them tight,
or cast them silent out of sight.
No more Gaza, no more chain,
no veil of fear, no endless pain;
the young cry out for liberty—
yet drown in crisis endlessly.
The “mighty one” has missed his way,
by lesser giants led astray;
he struck the head—yet flames arose,
and nuclear shadow nearer grows.
No plan, no wisdom paved the road,
he struck an ancient, hardened node;
he bombs, yet still the foe remains,
deep in the earth, through loss and pains.
Now in the Gulf’s consuming night,
he strikes without a guiding sight;
while humankind for power cries,
and wealth in burning ruin lies.
Hormuz now bound, a captive gate—
agreements broken, trust too late;
fanatics stand with vengeance sworn,
where peace is lost and rage is born.
They’ve nothing left to lose or save,
they run through tunnels, grave to grave;
and when all falls, when dust is spread—
if some still live among the dead,
perhaps at last, with clearer sight,
they’ll learn the cost of endless fight.
(24/3/26)
Amphiktyon – Major General (ret.) Konstantinos Konstantinidis
Writer, Member of the Society of Greek Writers
http://www.amphiktyon.blogspot.com
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