A war was born where silence screams,
Inside the soul that splits its dreams.
The right hand prays, the left hand steals,
The heart forgets what the spirit feels.
The Kauravas rise — a hundred lies,
Each one born where the ego cries.
They promise gold, they promise fame,
But every crown burns with shame.
The Pandavas stand — the will to bestow,
Five senses cleansed by the light they know.
They tremble still, for truth cuts deep,
The self must die before souls can reap.
Arjuna weeps, his bow hangs low,
“How can I strike the ones I know?”
Krishna smiles — the secret revealed,
“You never kill — you only yield.”
“For bodies fall, but the soul can’t fade,
It was by love that all was made.
Fight not for gain, nor fear the loss,
Your sword is faith, your shield is cross.”
“Act without fruit, let go of the claim,
See Me in all, and all the same.
When giver and gift no longer part,
The war will end inside your heart.”
The chariot rolled on sand and flame,
Each wheel carved out the Holy Name.
Dharma and Torah met as one,
Under the heat of the inner sun.
For Baal HaSulam would softly say,
“Love your friend — it’s the only way.”
And Krishna whispered through the din,
“The field you fight is the field within.”
Each slain desire became a prayer,
Each fallen foe — a friend laid bare.
The ego bled, but the soul stood tall,
In losing self, he gained it all.
Then Krishna vanished — or did He stay?
For light remained though form gave way.
Arjuna saw — no death, no sin,
Just endless love where war had been.
