The War at Hand

We are all at war


At war with beliefs
At war with spaces
At war with blanks
At war with existences
At war with voids
At war with worlds


We are all at war within and without
We are all but at war with our very own blood and bones and the flesh that wraps them around


Ripped between what has become of us and what could have
We cut our beings open
Caught in a star-crossed affair of ifs and buts
We carve out skins bare
Caged in the differences of dusk and dawn
We lay down our pieces falling apart


But, we never bleed alone
For, we are all at war
And, wars aren't about singulars


The war to hold back drenched eyelashes to our empty monologues
The war to write down unseen assaults as if they were poetry
The war to silence screaming lungs lamenting at burnt houses and fresh walls
The war to keep remembering our stories in the seas of plastic faces and make-believe lives



We are all but at war with our very own blood and bones and the flesh that wraps them around
We are all but slowly yet steadily rushing to the cancer that is us