Cold-blooded Politics

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Picture Credits: http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/yemen-then-and-now-the-sad-chronicle-of-a-failed-state

For you, it’s like a ball,

You strike and throw it to others’ field and then wait for the strike back.

It is a football game between few world powers.

‘Oh well, it’s political’, you would say.

‘We have nothing personal in it’, I hear you add!

But all those beings, losing lives,

The mothers who lost their children,

The kids who lost their teddy bears and Moms,

The blood!

The tears!

The wounds!

The cries!

Destroyed Humanity!

Don’t you look at it?????

But aaaah why would you?? Why should you??

Because you are right…It is Actually, NOT PERSONAL!

Ooooh no, not at all!

Those dead children and mothers who are rendered childless,

Those lost kids sans their teddy bears and Moms

They do not belong to you.

IT IS NOT PERSONAL…you are right. IT IS MERE POLITICS…Cold-blooded, Fucking Politics!

…To love

To love is a sickness,

Incurable one.

To love is an ecstasy,

Of happiness and of pain.

To love is light in the darkness,

Yet at times it makes us feel the darkest.

To love is breaking, becoming and breaking, yet again.

To love is knowing what one never thought, could exist.

To love is losing oneself,

And finding, what one never thought, one had.

To love is tearing apart,

and gelling into the One.

To love is like a burning candle…melting away, bit by bit by bit.

To love is like circling around the beloved, like a moth,

Giving away to the flame and becoming an ashed nothing-ness.

To love is to love to the smallest of pieces of one’s being,

until, nothingness vanishes into nothingness…

Unfinished Letters

…And after days or weeks or months

When I wake up from my numbness

I think of you

And scribble a word or two

Sometimes I manage more

So then I write a letter to you

A long one

A letter with silent words

My letter resonates the tale of my life in between the silence of my words

But then before I finish my story

The life strikes again

And I put down my pen

To write it some other time…

Heart-less-ness

I saw the lifeless body of the toddler in the arms of the hospital worker

Mud and blood mixed on the face of the child and his arms loosely hanging on the side

I saw two slightly bigger children running after the hospital worker

They too were covered with mud and blood, but looked ‘ok’

I looked into their eyes through the camera that captured their video

And the eyes of these children had questions and tears both

They mechanically described how they were playing outside and a bomb fell

In a blink the house came crashing down and the rubble had hit them

The little one of the two couldn’t say more

He just said, “My mother was inside” and fell silent and a tear casually fell off his eyes

I, being the ‘sensitive’ one couldn’t take more

With one slight move of the thumb I moved down to my timeline…