Stubs of a soul

“For how long do you think my old stubby fingers can hold up the cause? World peace is not sustainable.

Earlier, people fought for patches of land. Then, wars were fought on sea and air. Now control strategies have got into the lungs of people.

It cannot be eliminated, as long as the downfall of one benefits another. It is not a revenge on humans by the animal world. They have tolerated us long enough. It is a divine plan to make wealth and power see its limitations. All the weaponry so carefully built stands helpless. Royalty or fame have not been exempted.

Will the fools realise, power is invisible. We refused to acknowledge the blessings, but are compelled to accept its destructive power. It had to speak in a language you understand.

The apolitical ideology I lived by is nameless, because it does not qualify under any –ism.”

The suicide note does not surprise people who knew him. Everybody is in a lockdown, but he had stopped responding to messages a while ago – the world had ceased to exist for him. Stubs of the cigars he so loved were found on the floor, symbolic of destruction of his soul.

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