Of war I have only my minds glory,
The battle wounds are only imaginary,
I prattle my tongue in vanity,
As I sit in home’s comfort and serenity.
But they have no minds, any more,
Obliterated, defunct by throes of it all,
Bullets for breakfast, shells galore,
Bombs delivered, to the font door.
There’s no trivialising, no making sense,
Of wars purposes, and hidden intent,
Irrespective of lies and agenda pretense,
On faces, in souls, in eyes, the damage is immense.
So go on complain, how your country has no room,
Admit it, you’re racist and in full bloom,
After your leaders destroy homes, bring utter doom,
Maybe if we called on natives of the earth to exhume.
They’d attest to your murder and all your atrocities,
To your false establishment and forceful colonies,
Your utter racism, call it what it is; white supremacy,
Your indignation for humans and foreign policies.
You left your lives behind under false gallantry,
To bring destruction and disharmony,
Proud with your guns in all your glory,
The truth of it all will hit you, and forever yours is misery.
The earth will bare witness for what you have done,
Will come your day when of no avail will be your tongue,
When it consumes you whole under it’s maggots you succumb,
Under the thumb, in the slums, you’ll remain for beating your war drums!
I’m tired of mindless drivel. Endless philosophising, arm chair experts and shallow coffee talk. The reality of the matter is we’re all responsible. There is too much comfort in our lives for it not to be partially our fault.
Until every human from every walk of life shares the luxury of peace and security, we’re all the problem.
Our lives and lifestyles need fuel and a catalyst, the catalyst is war, the fuel is raped from the lands that are wrought with devastation and destruction, with genocide and pillage and with a convenient amnesia by us all, and on, into oblivion we continue thinking we are innocent and not responsible for the atrocities. Until it stops, the blood is on all our hands.