The Soul Reapers

Or... when will we find peace?

Photo by Bradley Pelish on Unsplash

“What difference does it make to the dead, the orphans, and the homeless, whether the mad destruction is wrought under the name of totalitarianism or the holy name of liberty or democracy?” Mahatma Gandhi

They believe their action is just,
That war is the path of salvation
For those who consider the earth narrow

And fear the rebellion
Of the human herd that could
Threaten their position.

The fear that possesses them
Is that of insurrection
Of those who finally see

The truth of their intention:
That for millennia they practice
Sacred decimation.

For them it is a rite they sanctify,
A necessary thinning
That they plan with art

Like one who sows in the granary
Only the seeds he wants,
Discarding what is precarious.

They are experts of the black
Sun of destruction,
Masters of words

That prepare the illusion
Of necessary war,
Of holy eradication.

Their millennial art
Is weaving reasons
For every carnage,

Creating conditions
So that blood seems
A fruit of others'

Decisions. Their members
Know how to kindle anger,
How to prepare the storms

Of death that wanders
Dressed as justice,
How to tune the keys

Of hatred, of malice
That makes human
Militia sing war.

But peace? That promised
Land they have
Never seen, that greenhouse

Where flowers grow
Without thorns, where grows
Love without deception?

That light that mixes
With joy, that calm
Where the heart feeds

On truth, that serene
Soul that gives
Rest to its tired

Hand? No
Experience have they ever
Of this white moon

That illuminates the paths
Of accord, never
Have they seen the mysteries

Of peace that you will
Contemplate when
The heart is calmed

In sweetness and when
The soul rests
In silence, listening

To the hidden music
Of cosmos that breathes
Without war, without pause

In its eternal going.
They don't know how is
The joy of creating

Without it being
Preceded by death,
Without first destroying.

Their doors
Never open on gardens
Of peace, but on twisted

Paths of bloody
Destinies, on fields
Where children

Die among flashes
Of bombs, where flowers
Grow only on fields

Of death. Their hearts
Don't know the beating
Of peace, the colors

That this has banished
From their horizon:
The green that has dressed

The meadows, the fountain
That sings of pure joy,
The sun on the forehead

Of children, the dark sweetness
Of mother who cradles
Her child, the care

That asks nothing
In return, that only
Gives, that wants nothing

Except to forgive
And love. This is
The music that plays

In the kingdom where
Peace is sovereign,
Where virtue

Is made
Without conflict,
Where truth

Is written in divine
Finger that needs no
War to be told.

But they have no
Stores of this state:
Peace harms them

Because they were
Forged in iron
Of inherited hatreds

From generation to terror,
Educated in the art
Of sowing error,

Of dividing, of sharing
With sword instead
Of uniting.

They don't know what happens
When the weapon is laid down,
When the soul decays

In love that fills
It with sweetness calm,
When it finds the palm

Of its beauty
Not in triumph in war
But in tenderness

That embraces the entire
Earth, that knows no
Borders, that shuts

No one out. Perhaps
This is their limit:
They don't know where flows

The peace that allows
Living without hatred,
Loving without revenge.

They are prisoners of their
Own terror, slaves
Of their mournful choir

That sings while grave
Tolls of death
Echo sweet

In their twisted ears
That cannot hear
Other than doors

That open to end
Lives, that don't hear
The sweet reflowering

Of peace when gifts
Are made without price,
When forgiveness

Is given without stench
Of calculation, but as
Pure, heavenly appreciation

Of the human, of the name
Each one carries written
In the heart, of the hair

Of children, of the gentle
Smile that knows not
Of hatred, of the divine

Writing that will say
One day to these blind ones:
"Peace will be made

Not with your games
Of death, but with love
That fills the places

Where there is no terror,
Where there is no war
But only the sun

That kisses the earth."