There is no just war.

Wearing a dirty face mask she peeped over the top of the rancid rubble,

her dark eyes smudged with sleeplessness and the filth of her poverty,

The fear in her eyes searched the landscape filling in the gaps where 

friends and family had lived and now sought another sojourner in war.


Like a trembling timid rabbit she looked longingly, listening for her

hearing to return to her – from their ringing a peal, stinging a steal, 

shocking and shaking the shattering earth. She hears a buzz like

an angry bee and seeking the source sees now the returning demons


set on ensuring that no one would survive alive to narrate their evil

heinous event.  She plodded down to the bludgeoned basements,

seeking a hole amidst the reeking wreckage with her growing child, 

she held in her womb. She found a shielded place and shuffled in.


The next wave of bombs came crashing around the smoking ruins.

She covered her ears and hugged the ground and prayed to a 

being, that cowered there with her, who wept with tears of anger

as the mother bleeds and the seed of hope within leaves and still

they fly, bombers who bind and blind themselves by the blatant 


discordant words of discontent; and deafen themselves to cries

of women and children, whose lives are ruined and homes razed,

amidst a world that could be at peace if it chooses, but no it accuses.

Despicable, irredeemable and abominable war is, but they’ll believe


that their cause is the way – to build a nation on their own views and

ideologies, theologies and illogicalities. That to wave an evil wand, to

send the innocent to their grave and consider they are brave in their

wanton destruction, deconstruction of a nation of the vulnerable ones,


weaponless ones, innocent ones. So, they come with fabled phallic-

like guns and shoot their furious metal sperm at a world, and wielding

their weapons charge an enemy of school children, bugs and lizards,

birds and bees as if they’re terrifying tanks and torpedoes instead.


Wearily the creator regards their senseless, defenceless destruction

and weeps the tears, as cradling the lifeless bodies of a burgeoning

creation, that was a loving notion til the shrill will of a few took their

fill of wars and called it God’s cause and wrote laws to hide the truth.

Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.