Throughout the world, old men, and even a sprinkling of young, old minded men, like nurturing mother’s, have suckled young men on the rancid ‘milk’ of hate, prejudice, fear, and greed, whereupon young men — like dutiful sons are wont to do — have been wallowing in this polluted quagmire… until… voilà! They have become old men, and the cycle begins all over again to the detriment of the world, and the entire human race.
This has been going on for umpteen centuries and they have been building statues, having colourful parades, and fly-bys for the same number of centuries, till they have become so confident, and so proficient, that they have even allowed the token women to mingle in their select groups, such as the G7, G20, G whatever number that takes your fancy, and the plethora of think tanks designed to keep the status quo.
Old men, especially the old grouches who once revelled and ravelled in power, and who still consider themselves powerful but now, due to arthritis and other geriatric diseases, wish to live vicariously by occupying the virile bodies of youth, see nothing wrong with throwing young men into the fire like logs off wood, war logs, to burn at the altar of their otherworldly passions on the battlefields of old men’s lust for longevity and sense of purpose.
With a heavy heart, it has been the centuries old cry of women to stop this senseless mayhem, this madness, for they have awoken, and recognize the absolute futility of war.
Old men, unfortunately, are still mentally playing war games in the sandbox, and who amongst us expects toddlers to understand something as mature as justice? Or even a smidgen of fair play? After all, the argument in the sandbox only ends when they are called home for supper
War, in all its manifestations, boils down to land —who occupies it, who owns it — and in the final analysis the owners always get it, all six feet of it, when they become a banquet for maggots.
My words may be considered dispassionate, but then justice is dispassionate. It must be, it has to be because truth has no friends. Truth is the enemy of all, for if truth had no enemy there would be no conflict, and something called love would reign supreme.
But then, that’s a feminine word, isn’t it?
So how could such a word measure up to masculine words like war, flags, honour, bravery, and medals to an old man who has just put his teeth in a tumbler, before being helped into bed by a homely woman in a flannel nightgown?