8:38 AM
Samrat Babu Koirala
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.
