The Inheritance of
War
Before the lines
were drawn in sand
before two
nations, two flags, divide
over gods,
prophets, believers and books
brothers fought,
killed, collide.
Their god demanded
submission
befitting praise,
five a day
Yet that merciful
shall lay in wait,
should a step or
thought may go astray.
Purity &
truth, or so they say
living, killing by
the book.
Word of one is
above all,
resisting any
second look.
The lord rights
all wrongs, they say,
will shower
maidens, gold and fame.
Wrong unto us, a
cherished virtue,
when believers
bring us heathens shame.
Preacher's will is
will of him
his words, deeds
fair and just.
Obedience is the
path they caution,
questions are a
perilous lust.
Can a maker be so
void of love
vengeful, cruel,
bias untame?
Did messenger ever
shed a tear,
over oceans of
blood in his name?
War is the
inheritance we got,
war is what we
leave behind.
What use be of god
and books,
if us and them will common sense find.
Siddharth Sehgal
Siddharth is a poet, writer and Editor in Chief of Indian Periodical.
Tags:
Poetry
A timely poem in an age of soulless terror.
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