Let’s look at the world from
Up on high
From that blessed blue sky
Let’s try figure out what God is up to
And , why?
‘Cause,Man, sadly has no clue.

So, what can he do,
He’s doing what he knows best,
Ensuring his end, fastest, too.

O, How perspicacious was Nostradamus?

Not a jot of land
Anywhere in the world today
Where, people aren’t fighting,
Dying in sheer human misery,
Missiles dropping, Planes flying
Intentions annihilation,
Conquest.

Lies being peddled
And,
All this with the noble objective
 nothing wrong with that)
Of establishing Peace
But,
Through annexation, wars
And, the forces of might,

Conquest
The only purpose of Life.

A Life destined to meet Demise
Go extinct,
Struggling to find a purpose
A meaning,
A void left by the
Almighty
In not telling us specifically
“Why Are We Here” ?
A rather careless God, as it were!

Helicopters on Mars
People in their last hours
Who cares?

Ironic and, seemingly, simple
To blind the fading vision of
Mundane daily life, and
The vast majority that lives it
So long as the label is
Conquest.

Big stakes, big Games, big Money
All, to make more, all to play for
G D P,
(Gross means Deployed for Power).

Not one place, anywhere, on Earth today
That you can name where
Peace, truly reigns,
Night meets Day
With a sense of
Hope,
The hand of friendship, extended,
Not here
For, this is the Gladiator’s arena.

What is Peace, the absence of battles,
Is that all?

East to West, North to South,
The seas and the beds of Oceans
In turmoil, in dispute,
Oblivious of puny Man’s
Giant attempts to Play
God on  Earth,
Attempting,  to conquer Nature, and
Willy- nilly face
The horrendous responses that we see
From time to time,
Tsunamis, Wild fires, Quakes et all
And now,
Covid 19,
Bizarre Revenge
Vengeance, with fangs bared.

The world overwhelmed
Those, whom we place in power,
Gods of Clay on earth
(Bare shadows of what Adam was in Eden)
Knowing what is best for us,
While He, who resides in the Heavens above
Is Unmoved by Man’s plight.

A myopic vision, tiny minds
And limited Years
All, that’s all that’s left of
Man.

To Ordinary, daily, life
It makes not an iota of any difference
Who moves, who is static,
The Sun or all else above
For,
It’s just ‘daily’ life that hurtles towards
Its end, that which it one day
Must and does meet,
The pace
Destined,
Time, destined,

Slain, Conquered
By
Time.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 30 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com/ www.ashoksawhny.com)