Poetry

Holy Ink, Holy Blood

The pen is mightier than the sword,
said he who had not felt the cold of steel.
To hold a pen is to be at war,
said he in fervent zeal.

Yet among matters of mice and men,
It is but the sins of our Fathers,
which we daily defend.

Let us bear witness,
for our beliefs they must be chartered,
when the ink of our scholars,
dries holier than blood of martyrs.

 

Author’s note: On this day in Paris, 2 armed gunmen invaded bombed and shot up a satirical newspaper in Paris. 12 dead. Mourn not for their loss but carry on their fight for civil liberties. Je suis Charlie Hebdo.

 

Books and Bullets

The blood of our children, they line our streets.
Watch your step, lest it blemish your feet.
Brimstone and hellfire, no match for trusty lead.
Quick a microphone, too late, they’re dead.

At least we’ll have martyrs, at least we’ll show remorse.
We’ll parade them in floats, we’ll speak for the corpse.
Guiltless they fall, books, bodies and all.

Pages turn, we’ll forget. Hold a candle when its time.
Who needs books anyway, bullets do just fine.

Author’s note: On this day, 15th of December 2014. Over 100 children were murdered in Pakistan at the hands of the Taliban. Who are we armchair tacticians to condemn and condone? We can but weep for the children. Let’s leave the fabric of social institutions to those more capable. To our politicians, our economists, our banks and our lobbyists. We can but weep.

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