“Patriotism Is An Egg From Which Wars are Hatched.” – Guy de Maupassant

Kaee Chicharr, Oldie but goldie


“What is this duty that separates lovers and causes women to become widows and children to become orphans? What is this Patriotism which provokes wars and destroys kingdoms through trifles? And what cause can be more trifling when compared to but one life? What is this duty which invites the poor villagers, who are looked upon as nothing by the strong and by the sons of the inherited nobility, to die for the glory of their oppressors? ………. “

Kahlil Gibran.

What cause can there be but Lust, for Lust makes a man regress into something more vile than the Satan himself, more grotesque than the Leper, with flies flocking to his bleeding sores, more ravenous than a lion which consumes it’s own spawn to satisfy its Hunger and Lust for being the sole, the supreme, the unchallenged. What cause could there be but Lust?

The past is dark. The Human history stained crimson and gory. I look at myself with disgust. In the mirror, I see only a brother of Cain, a son of the Pharaoh, an ally of the ravager Genghis Khan, a soldier of the Third Reich and the obsessed despot, Hitler! And the man who killed numerous citizens of Japan by creating the Mushroom-Cloud: Oppenheimer! I see Saturn only. And no Helen to justify my obsession.

The past is dark. My tomorrows are darker. I see mongers of Death reigning supreme. I see their tools wreak Death upon the unguilty denizens of Humania. I see these mongers of Death sell their souls, like Faust, for the pleasure of being the mighty. I see these monger of Death use their tools to become the tools of Evil. Mars is the god of all men.

I look at myself with disgust. The ‘Crosstian’ prays to the Cross. The Muslim knows not the meaning of Salaam. The Hindu worships the deity of Shiva. The Chinese… the genius of Mao. The Buddhist is lost in the tantric chants praising Buddha. The Russian in a Soviet Vodka induced hangover. The American… in the mysteries of Time and Space and gold and the mania of Global Domination. The Arab is envious of the Jewish thorn. The Hutu slaughters his brother, the Tutsi. The Afghan is quarrelling over the True Colour of Faith. And the Somali… in the mirror, I see only disgust in my eyes.

 

“Make his fight on the hill in the early day

Constant chill deep inside

Shouting gun, on they run through the endless grey

On they fight, for they are right, yes, but who’s to say?

For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know

Suffered wounds test their pride

Men of five, still alive through the raging glow

Gone insane from the pain that they surely know

For whom the bell tolls

Time marches on

For whom the bell tolls”

Metallica.

My tomorrows are darker. The stars are unfavourable. I shall kill myself in my Lust. I fear none, save myself and my mind that has let itself be enslaved by Lust. Lust is the mother of all emotions. I Lust for a living. I lust for my neighbour’s wealth! I Lust for his thoughts! His ideals, his words! I Lust for his peace of mind! I Lust for his wife! I Lust for Life! I Lust for a living! My tomorrows are darker.

 

“Qu’il vienne, qu’il vienne,

Le temps dont on s’éprenne.

 

J’ai tant fait patience

Qu’à jamais j’oublie.

Craintes et souffrance

Aux cieux parties.

Et la soif malsaine

Obscurcit mes veines.

 

Qu’il vienne, qu’il vienne,

Le temps dont on s’éprenne.

 

“Let it come, let it come,

The age of our desire.

 

I have endured for so long

That I have forgotten everything.

Fear and sufferings

Have flown to the skies.

And a morbid thirst

Darkens my veins.

 

Let it come, let it come,

The age of our desire.”

Arthur Rimbaud.

“I desire nothing save Glory. A Helen, Glory shall be, for it shall wash away the blood of people from my hands. I desire Glory for it shall immortalize me, canonise me! A Helen to justify my sanguine manner and my morbid lust for power! Lord Satan, if Helen could preserve the Greek honour in ravaging the tiny Troy, why not one for me? A word, I desire, for sleep refuses to rescue me from this madness! I toss, I turn, I pace, I mull! Lord Satan, anything to let my heavy heart rest a while for I am driven to exhaustion! I implore! I beg! Merciless be my nature, but my people no longer fear me! For they see me as a lunatic, a zealot, a man raving about Glory. Unmatched Glory! My words have lost their magic. The magic which you bestowed by cursing my tongue! My Lord, what shall it be? Faith, I have not in their fetishes and deities. Save in you. Faith, I cannot use as a shield for ever more! Their Lust I preyed upon! But their Lust seems sated. Illusions I have tried and made them delirious! But now, that spell is wearing and my people are stirring to a life that is brutal. My Lord, grant me the power to delude them for once and for ever more! I seek your aid to rule in your name!”

The Despot waited at the altar. The sun rose and brought forth the rays of gold to revitalise the sleeping denizens of Humania with the nectar of Hope. The Despot, too, looked to the sun in joy. He had found the panacea to cure the peace that prevailed over all lands and Humania. He stepped to the balcony to address his minions and pick thanks to share the satanic revelation that would rid the world of all sane minds and peace and life, too. A single word, the thought of which amused the Despot, he whispered to himself. The people were weary of the Despot, yet they eagerly awaited his audience for what he would bring to them.

The word he bore in his heart, mind, soul and on his breath till his entire nation was slain or forced into subjugation. And he was caught and hung in the street as a warning to all. The carrion-eaters picked his bones clean. But, the word still remained in those white symbols of Death. His people canonised him. He was made a Martyr of the Fatherland. For he was a Patriot.

“It is the cause, not the death, which makes a Martyr.”

Napoleon Bonaparte.

“Qu’il vienne, qu’il vienne,

Le temps dont on s’éprenne.”

I love my father. I love my mother. I love my sisters and my brothers, grandparents, my uncles, my aunts, my cousins. Blood comes before everything. Blood is everywhere. The blood in my veins makes me love the blood in their veins. I love my house, my street, my farm, my country! I realise that Patriotism is not enough. I must not have hatred or bitterness towards anyone.

My tomorrows are darker. The future events cast their shadow upon my today. The shadow of the Despot looms ominously. He may be anyone. I fear not him. I fear the insanity he embodies. I fear the lunacy he unleashes with his callous words, thoughts, deeds. I fear for my blood. For the blood I have in my veins runs, too, in the veins of all the denizens of Humania.

I hate and I love. You must ask why I do so. I do not know, but I feel it and am in torment. My fears may be hollow. My fears may be fallow. I lust for all I see and feel. I am a scoundrel. For me, the last refuge is the love of my land, my people, my blood! War, I see everywhere. For war has become me. For I am at war with myself! My thoughts are fallow and my fears are not hollow!

My past is dark. My tomorrows are darker. For I have my sanguine blood to aid in my conquest of Life! My kin shall aid me. For my words are just the wind blowing through the secrets that I keep. I look at myself with disgust. The mirror disgusts me! If all men were blind and I would be no outcast! My words are just the wind blowing through the secrets that I keep! Ambition is a sort of work. It keeps me busy. It fires my spirit. It fires my Lust!

“When the Dust of my Land summons me,

An Angel of Lord shall fly me Home

To the deathless vistas, to the serene deserts,

To the Lost, but Unforgotten, my Home.

There, I shall die like Unsung Heroes.

The Heroes who sanctified the Dust

With the Blood of their veins and Dreams.

For Death is Eternal, but Desire a must.”

My formless future floats past my eyes. I dream of today, and design my tomorrows.

“…… If duty destroys peace and nations and Patriotism disturbs the tranquillity of man’s life, then let us say, ‘Peace be with duty and Patriotism.'”

 

Kahlil Gibran.

{March, 2000.}

This won me an Essay Competition there. I think It was the Feroze-ud-Din Shah one.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s