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Of war and greed.

By

 


Aadil Ghulam Bhat.

Poet and Author 



You speak of war as if it were some noble notion,  

A game played by the fearless and fierce.  

But I tell you now, war is no game—it is a grievous curse,  

A blight that blackens the very soul of mankind.  

You who sit in your chambers, drawing lines on maps,  

Moving pieces as though they were mere tokens in your hands—  

Do you know what it is you have wrought?


Look to Qudus, where the ancient olive groves,  

Symbols of peace, now severed and scarred,  

Their roots soaked in the sorrow of the innocent.  

Can you hear it? The cries of children echoing through the night,  

Their dreams shattered by the relentless thunder of bombs.  

And for what? For land? For power?  

For the greed that festers in your hearts like a plague?


And what of Kashmir? A land of Sufi and river valleys,  

Now consumed by the cruel flames of your ambition.  

The rivers, once pure, now flow with the fiery red  

Of the blood of those who dared to dream of peace.  

Mothers weep for sons they will never see again,  

Their tears mingling with the ashes of their homes.  

All for the sake of your empire, your insatiable hunger for control.  

Do you not see the madness in it? The utter, consuming madness?


But I know the truth— and i am aware,

War is not born of necessity, nor of justice.  

It is born of greed, of the darkest desires  

That lie hidden in the hearts of men.  

You wage your wars for power, for wealth,  

And for the fleeting thrill of domination.  

And in doing so, you condemn countless souls to a fate worse than death.


And yet, I wonder—will it ever end? Will there come a day  

When man is no longer enslaved by his own desires?  

When the curse of war is lifted,  

And the earth is no longer stained with the blood of the innocent?  

Or are we doomed to repeat this cycle, over and over,  

Until there is nothing left to destroy?


I do not know. But I will not be silent.  

I will speak out against this madness,  

Against the greed that drives men to war.  

For I have seen the cost of your ambitions,  

And it is a price too high to pay.  

War is no jest—it is a curse that consumes,  

A relentless scourge that must be shattered, yes—  

If we are to harbor any hope of peace.


So, go on—play your games, wage your wars.  

But know this: there will come a day when the weight of your sins will crush you,  

When the cries of the innocent will rise up  

And drown out your hollow victories.  

And on that day, you will know the true cost of war—  

The curse of destruction that you have unleashed upon the world.



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