War Is Back
War is Back.
BASTARD WAR
A car races down a snow-covered country road somewhere in Ukraine. A father and a son. They have been to rescue their dogs. The dog from death in war from the dogs of war. The son tells the father to drive faster through the village. The village is engulfed in flames. The tall towers have collapsed. Death is in the air. The son spots a tank. One tank, two then three then a whole column of tanks.
Father stop you must stop.
The father slams on the brakes of his old Mercedes van.
Ahead is a tank. Slowly the top of the tank swivels and creaks until the barrels of the long gun is facing the father and son. A single shot rings out. It hits their van. The son screams
Papa, get out and lie down.
Then an endless torrent of bullets and shells hit the van one after another. All designed to easily cut through the metal as easy as a knife cuts butter.
The father is hit
His blood pumps out at a steady rate onto the ground
The dogs are hit
The dogs are killed
The son climbs out of the bullet-riddled van and pulls his father out.
His father lies on the ground.
More shots ring out from the tank
Bang bang bang bang
The slaughter of the innocents is all in a days work for the heartless, meaningless Russian soldier casually pulling the trigger
He pulls the trigger
He stops pulling the trigger
While he waits for the smoke to clear from the new carnage he picks up his coffee cup and takes a drink
Do you think it will rain today he asks his friend?
No my phone forecast is dry but wet
They chat and have forgotten just for a moment the life they have cut short from its natural end
Another soldier passes him a cookie to take with his coffee
The smoke clears
The soldiers look up and light amongst each other
The father is seen on the floor a small river of blood comes into view first 200 metres away at the side of his shattered van
The excitement of the soldier intensifies as he waits to see if the target has been eliminated
The smoke clears
A son can be seen holding his father
Papa, papa don’t die, please do not die
Papa I don’t want you to go
Mother is waiting
Your daughter is waiting
I am your son
I need you to be with me
I beg you papa I beg of you please don’t die
I cannot move. Finish me off son. They have shot off my foot. I can feel the warm life flowing onto the cold road. I am dead son I am dead. The father can only speak of his impending reality. His reality fast approaching is death. No words can be understood. He then falls silent. The son bends over his father and cries
The son knows
The father knows
They know he it's all too late
His finally words are clear
Son, run for your life I am dead
His father lives his father dies
His father is dead
His heart has stopped
His spirit has gone
The man that was is now cold lifeless meat lying on the snow-covered road.
The young Russian soldier in the tank is excited
Blood does than to a man
War does that to a man
The adrenaline rises
His friend in the tank tells him
Shoot the other, shoot the other
The soldier opens his mouth slightly
His warm breath can be easily seen in the cold air slowly passing between his moist lips that now have the taste of blood on them
He points his gun once again
His finger is starting once again to apply deadly pressure for a joyous deadly outcome
He stops for a just a moment
At that moment his humanity has left him
He is no longer the child of a mother
He has become the son of a demon
His human being has become demonic
All normal reasoning has gone
He killed one and he has decided to kill the other
He can see the crosshairs over the image of the son caring for his fathers body
Pull the trigger his friend screams and laughs
Pull it, pull it kill him
He pulls
He misses
The son runs for his own life
In tears he has left behind his father like an animal on a road that has been hit but a truck
He knows he has to save his life to tell this story of the barbarians that are filled with a demon
The younger man lives
One dead. One lives
Inside the car are three dead dogs pulverised into meat from relentless bullets shot for fun
And the soldiers are dead
They look alive yet they are dead
They are shells of human filled with demonic activity
They have nothing of a man inside them
If they walk away from this war death will find them and take them
This is the brutal bastard reality of war.
The drums are certainly beating throughout the Earth. The masters are meeting. The media love the talk of war and what was could, would, might do to anyone reading their tattered cheap newspapers.
This is the war talk.
They will join him. They will vote against them. They will sanction others. They will remove the removable.
The reality of war is never fun. Only those that have never been to war will build the case for war. The only ones that never want war are the once that have been to war.
Unless that is you are a hardened war criminal using war to elevate your own short lived life. Then and only then will they get their now statue that stands on a cold street to be shat on by birds until the ends of times.
These are dangerous times. Times we maybe never dreamt would come back. Why would we think that? War has always been a feature of human kind. It has gone from local war to global war to the ultimate war.
Now we have a Russian leader and his mob threatening the globe with nuclear annihilation. The globe response in kind oath a response of nuclear assured destruction.
These are days of insanity based of fear of losing something.
How can one man decided an action of annihilation action of million upon millions? One man has the power of life and death and is willing to sacrifice mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, children, babies, pregnant women and more for what?
Mostly for their place in history. A little like Alexander the Great. A little like Napoleon. A little like most statues of granite that come from the ground and return to the ground.
Yet war should never be pushed as a solution to anything. The good are as bad as the bad. The bad can be as good as the good. War can be about media ratings and even skin colour or native tongue. Speak and show the wrong one and the media will not show their plight.
The men of war claim morality especially after the high priests sprinkles their holy waters upon the weapons of death. The excuse of a higher cause is used by all. Those excuses are driven by favours and gold.
Any leader willing to send children to death whilst they lock themselves away are not and were never leaders. These ones are bullies and undeserving of life.
But nothing has changed. War comes to visit. War takes leave. War comes back to visit once more.
War right now is back
War is hungry
War is looking for its food
I shall kill fathers
I shall kill mothers
I shall devour children
I am the darkness all men fear
I am bastard
I am war
13/05/2022
I dedicate this to OLEH BULAVENKO his son, all Ukrainians, all Russians forced into war and anyone facing war in their country right now