Stained with the blood of a thousand years-
Today and yesterday are slaves already. Tomorrow’s next.
A golden arc that once represented the hopes and desires of an ever rising empire.
It’s now a floating nuclear bomb and the lazy cotton clouds are the white silk shrouds, concealing the haunting innocent faces who simply couldn’t get away- collateral damage.
Yes, that’s what we call them.
The winds- I imagine them to be giant silver sickles sharpened to slice into two equal parts and I imagine they’d do it with a gleeful grin.
Then, comes rain-
Showers of bullets fired from metallic cylinders-
lethal extensions of humanity, invented by the Chinese, adopted and improved by the Europeans.
“there will come soft rains,”
that’s what they all chant , praying for water to wash away the horror and sins of the battlefield.
Rain comes, but in no means soft.
A shower of bullets and grenades, of severed limbs and droplets of blood sprayed all over the sky, staining the earth permanently. Even if a thousand flowers, red, white and yellow bloom next spring, in their petals, the horrors of the previous year will never vanish.
Can’t you hear the echo of the voices?
the wailing children, the screaming men, the shrieking women.
Can’t you hear the silent wails of the trees whose roots are shattered by the incessant attack of the storm of grenades?
Can’t you hear the silent protest when buildings older than a decade of generations are blown up?
The earth is stained with the blood of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
The skies are burning.
The skies are on fire.