We are at war, yet never at war. 
We are at peace, never truly at peace. 
What is this land in which we live -
seeded by hate, by the sword tilled,
by Death scythe-harvested? 

Since neither of us can win, 
let our unequal gods meet, 
bury arms instead of limbs, 
and negotiate a mirror’d defeat.

©  F. S. AIJAZUDDIN 

27.2.19