And when the dust settles, the smokes start to clear out, the destruction becomes a sight, and bodies, just another piece of rubble to dispose off- will we be welcomed by silence. We'll land up with cameras in hand, pens that have no purpose but to serve "the latest" on a platter, dig up amidst the debris and death the syllabus for our next set of education and teach our children how war is bad- and look the other way whilst an entire generation never gets to grow up, buried in the pits of history, to become history. Just another anecdote- a horror, a terror, A lesson never to be learnt. An entire people- like you and I, of flesh and bones, of dreams and hopes- blown away from existence, never even given the choice of survival. And we'll hold up the sign of peace write two lines of shitty poetry and tell our children- Make love not War. Because children like you have been martyred to act as examples. And examples will they become- On a white, Dove-y, sheet, our ink scribbling half-hearted answers as we never really understand the question in the first place. And may be in that silence, the one that pricks through your eardrums and drives you insane, Will you know that your idle hands were just as responsible as the hand that pulled the trigger, the hand that signed on dotted lines- the hand that rained bombs, shells, pellets and blood- and made humanity, obsolete.
To Aleppo by Navamita Chandra
Art by Samresh Shrivastava