Bullets And Blood

Today the sky is filled with the vapors rising from the tear of the woman who lost her son who couldn’t get hold of the pills that could get his heart pumping. Today, the clouds are filled with black smokes because of the flames rising from the body of the police officer burnt alive. Today, you and I have lost all our colors like the woman who lost the red sindhur in her forehead on his husband being killed in his uniform. Today the red of rose does not remind anyone of the spring but of the blood of that innocent child who bled his life out in your clash. Does this sound like the music of triumph to you?

The owl now roams during days because it now takes a only a genius to differentiate between day and night. Today, the neighbor far away sits with a remote control watching our misery like a soap opera fitting into his dirty games. While the streets are painted red, we are still busy tearing the flesh apart of each other till one of our sternum has become dust. The marching line of empty gasoline cylinders resonances with the rib cage pulled inward because of air failing to make a push to abdominal wall. The news seem more of a horror movie than anyone ever watched which leaves the soul paralyzed like a tired tree waiting for winter to take it. Does this sound like the march of victory to you?

But my dear friend, the war does not bring peace. It brings blood. Physics says, when objects strike, only clash among them is possible. Whoever taught you, the strike brings peace, taught you wrong. For proof, look around you, the blood of our own brothers is everywhere.