A Pity
Called War
By
V. Shruti
Devi
Yes,
I’m
inclined
to think
To wonder
what
prompts
skirmishes
to commence,
to rage on
on the
shores of time
…who the
froth,
what deadly
tide
doth wrenching
sinews
of babes
and carnivals of human blood abide….
To think
there exist
homo sapiens
that slant
their steely resolve
to protract
war,
war-like
lifeless
limbos….
Maimed,
mutilated, violated:
women,
children, et al
-moving
ghosts
of towns,
of bunches of living bones.
The semi-naive
imagine
that all
ballots
stand
permanently poised
to wish
to negate
hostilities
Alas,
wretched souls,
see the
light!
There are
choruses egging on
for a
tele-worthy fight!
Use up
arms, sell some more
Collateral
damage,
Oh, that’s
a bore
One of
those things
we gotta
live with:
a pretty
pity
maybe not
so little,
but what
the bard
contorts
into our utterances
struggles
tomorrow
to prop up
our observances
There are
no winners
I assure
thee
Only those
who aspire:
Grandiose
designs,
heartfelt
whines,
missionary
zeal, even
To deliver
to the orb
a golden
era,
a planetary
retreat
devoid of
contrarians
Visions of
fragrant, flower-filled arbors
Justice,
equality, freedom
and secular
towers
Some fight
to defend,
some to mend
or fend:
Can it be
otherwise,
a faint
voice rises
Is it a
poet, is it a saint
Or just a
person
With a
slightly
above-average
brain
who
recognizes the era:
There’s
trans-everything
and there’s
trance
anything
Solutions
crawl around like
unclaimed
baggage
on a flight
from
the maker
But all
else resolved,
forces
of habit
fight
strong
In the age
of AI, of gen-AI
of
supersonic interconnectedness
options
abound
Yes, it’s a
pity
if we
so desire
Do rest
assured
that those
aren’t
mere
mirages
in the mire
