Let No War Be Holy Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Who taught the sword
to call its edge holy?
Who whispered to the fire
that to burn a city is prayer?

The earth offers no blessing
to the weight of the march;
rivers do not hymn
for the thunder of the gun.

Every parent's tears
tastes of the same salt—
whether their eyes' pupil burst
in the assault or in the hold.

Blood keeps its red
beneath a different flag.
The soil does not ask the grave
who claimed the higher ground.

Awaken, humanity.
Let no banner convince you
that slaughter is a virtue.
Let no scripture be bent
to sharpen the blade.

The Holy is the breath itself—
the pulse in every chest,
the fragile, quiet hope
in every newborn's cry.

When we cherish the living,
steel will yield to rust,
and the earth will bloom
with the long-forgotten scent of peace.

MyKoul