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ASTAROTH
In the battlefields, weapons are volatile.
When the sinister charm of the angel of death preaches the gospels of chaos.
When the greed of bloodthirsty people defiles the purity of freedom, equality, fraternity, solidarity and justice.
In the mournful eyes of thirsty, hungry, exhausted and terrified soldiers, the tears of human savagery escape.
While the dramas continue endlessly.
The hills of skulls grow, the torn remains of heroes pile up.
The sad records of crimes against humanity are constantly being surpassed.
The overexcited parrots of war preachers repeat the xenophobic, supremacist and apocalyptic discourses of their alienation.
Testimonies of the horrors of their demonic madness are widely disseminated.
Innocent souls are sacrificed for vain bounties.
The smoking ruins of their shattered empire incense the dreams of these massacred destinies.
In the veins of their warriors blinded by barbarism, flow rivers of sorrow.
The throne of infernal power has never been underground.
These apostles chained the majority of human beings with the chains of hatred.
On the battlefields, the reaper reigns supreme.
Where is peace, where is this sweet heavenly light,
In this putrid world, trapped in the horrors of war?
Where is the love, where is the tender divine spark in this tumult of destruction?
Copyright ©
Auguste Romain Nyecki
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