Autumn Surprise (the dilemma)

He tied his shoes, looked out of his window

nothing but darkness, but the murmur

of others was there

A complete peace settled within him

this day—

planned meticulously

with the others.

Dying was a gift in this tumultuous world

and if done right, he'd exit like a martyr

leaving no trace behind.

We all shared the sentiment:

death for us

was a direct entry out of this hell—

this Jahanam.

And so, he would show no fear.

And so he would show no mercy.

Bodies lay in layers, one upon the other

Once hot with the exertion of dance

Swaying to the rhythmic pulse of electronic music.

A black and white vision comes to mind:

bodies lay layered, bereft of sustenance

In black and white Europe.

A haunting vision in the subconscious of a people

A grief, unquestionable

lingering

in its duration.

An October surprise unfolds,

With humans ablaze in conflict's fire.

Choices, stark and gut-wrenching

demand contemplation, Weighing the gravity

of horrors bringing the beheadings

pose a macabre question:

Which is more heinous?

Witnessing a child's agony as they die a bloody death.

Or a child, bereft, witnessing a parent's violent end?

The atrocities captured on film

snuff films, worse even somehow

A terror intended to shock, disorient

echoing past traumas.

A forced awakening to acute awareness

that was thought to be forever eliminated

from the planet.

In time, And yet, But Still,

The clarity of violence emerged

amidst the chaos.

Retribution descended

upon a populace already wronged

Bodies,

once again

emaciated,

Lay beneath the debris of shattered homes

Collapsing into themselves.

Countless bombs descended

claiming myriad lives

Posing a shared moral quandary:

To be the child, adrift in a realm of unfathomable cruelty, watching their parents blown apart.

Or the parents,

extracting a small lifeless form from the wreckage.

A voice approaches the grieving

Assuring them

that all was done within the rules of warfare.

Transfixed abroad, scenes of wailing people

haunt our screens, carried in every pocket

every palm.

Generations butchered, blown apart

create a need, a call to action

resonating, echoing.

So we take to the streets

or to our temples or

commit unthinkable acts against 7 year olds

Never simply pausing to reflect

our little lottery win

born without the fear of flames or thirst

Never mind this—

A time to choose sides, to align ourselves

in a world starkly divided

painfully unbalanced.