When war mulls over
An illicit child that none who so wants,
Child of incest, if world’s one family—
A truth to no warmongers ever haunts,
And to which all here are reconciled with.
Grown in the wombs of deep-dwelling desires,
I’m nourished by ambition’s burning fire,
Born one day, burst forth from a stubborn maw,
I devour first those that raised me on birth,
As terror, I hit all the watching eyes,
With loud laugh I blow up all ears that hear,
Caught by throat, all talking tongues go speechless,
I feel, I am on way to victory…
And yet I know, truth never is with guns:
When so I see a blood-dipping body,
I feel defeated nigh, forever done,
When see someone hugging a gasping flesh,
I feel defeated again by my gun,
When tender sprouts crop up to soothe land’s wounds
Caused by the enemy’s raging missiles,
I feel defeated in eyes of heaven,
Amidst collapsed buildings’ clear opening,
When see footsteps of innocent children,
I feel defeated then and all but done,
Defeated oh by my very own gun…
And vague, delayed wisdom dawns unto me:
Can I ever defeat immortal life?
Phoenix-like that rises from ash of death
That hath a religion, nor ever creed.
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Reflections on happenings |10.12.2023| war
Copyright ©
Aniruddha Pathak
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