War is No Solution (Nor Was It Ever Just)

Tell me—how "holy" is war?
The earth births no more Buddhas to answer this lore.
Christ’s cross lies empty, his peace-song unsung,
Even the Prophet’s exodus—now a threadbare tongue.

Where do we run?
Humanity’s embrace grows colder than stone.
What shelter exists when the sky rains lead?
Cities kneel as mass graves, whispering to the dead.

The age of light retreats—
Tesla’s visions lie trampled at tyranny’s feet.
Only funeral pyres dance now, flames licking the night,
A grotesque waltz where shadow swallows light.

Alpha, Beta, Gamma—
Life’s tapestry unravels, a charred diorama.
Who bears the guilt? Kings with blood on their palms,
Deaf to a child’s giggle, clutching their psalms.

Shells scream, missiles scribble doom,
The ground trembles, a self-dug tomb.
And if the atom splits the air?
Silence. Then—no one left to care.

You who dreamt of thrones, your bones will be
Blackened feathers in a dead sea.
Civilization—a sandcastle kissed by the tide,
Gone in the gasp of a neutron’s pride.

Enough…
Multitudes now kneel, forever dust.
The survivors? Ghosts in the rubble’s crust.
This sin of trading dawn for dusk must break—
If light lags, let our minds quake.

Oppenheimer’s "Destroyer of Worlds" weeps,
Watching his demon from hell’s own deeps.
Einstein mourned: We signed our eclipse.
That letter to Roosevelt—ink-stained regret on his lips.

"Atom"—a syllable that gnaws the sun.
We must suture the wounds we’ve spun.
Why court the void when love’s not done?

Let us pilgrimage—
To Ganga’s ghats, to Mecca’s rib,
To where the olive branch outlives the sword’s fib.

Sing me your softest hymn,
Let love’s lexicon brim.
Or if war still howls, take this vow:
Forge pens from plutonium—but write peace now.