Does Not deserve a TITLE

ON PEACE from Old Persia

We go to war.

Objectives fuzzy.

We tell you some of them.

We keep the rest of the cards—

close.

Then,

mist it with some wins.

Mainly “big beautiful” words—

Some are ugly—

some are so damaging for everyone else.

Then,

we sign some papers—

now—we call it peace.

If you wonder about the difference of before and after,

you wouldn’t know.

Just a tiny little one.

In the name of the big word “peace,”

flouts quietly, unnoticed—

milliards

of milliards.

shash sh...

Peace is worth it.

Nobody’s done it before.

We have the paper.

Now celebrate.

The industry flourishes.

It’s the secret of weapons,

the mass destruction of haze.

We used it up.

Time for new production.

Now let’s see the change for Citizen soul.

Burka, check.

Fanatic regime, check.

Censorship, check.

Political prisoners, check.

New headlines, check.

money transfer, check.

Your money declined, check.

Citizen soul died on the cross of belief

that something might change through

the halls of the bent machine—check.

From straight forward to strait, indeed.