The uncle must sell killing machines to
keep its land fertile and the landscape lush green. The uncle stands naked and
exposed to the world alongside his Zionist agent. Yet the opposing actors are
consumed by their petty rivalries and hate, too busy to see the collapse, and
the vile eventuality.
Humanity waits at a crossroads, begging.
What looms is not reform, not realignment — but total annihilation.
Finally, the bloody game began. The uncle’s
ledgers melted first, profit and savings then went up the flame. What once was
lush green landscape is now a crater with a charred flag in it, which
nobody salutes.
The petty actors? Their arguments fossilized mid-sentence.
History won’t quote them. Geology will.
No sequel. No post-credit scene. Just the kind of peace that doesn’t need
negotiating.
An eerie silence, with no doves left to
carry the olive branches. The smoke-filled sky.
Ambers sparking and flashing occasionally beneath the heaps of ash look
like twinkling stars, a counterfeit galaxy made of our cinders.
Up above, the galaxy of celestial audiences
witnesses the apocalyptic climax unfolding on earth. And the moon, always the
pale voyeur, finally gets its front-row seat.
Long it envied the greens on mother earth
without ever actually turning green.
Tonight, it watches those greens turn black, then grey, then gone. And for the first time, the moon doesn’t want
what the earth had.
It just keeps watching, because there’s
nothing else left to see, just a reflection, a pale shadow of itself on earth.
Vote of Thanks
- To the uncle, for the lesson in naked
truth.
- To the Zionist agent, for running the
storefront to the end.
- To the petty actors, for the reminder
that ego fossilizes faster than bone.
- To humanity, for waiting at the
crossroads, even when the road was gone.
- To the stars and the moon, for keeping
their seats and bearing witness.
- To the earth, for every green it gave
before it went grey.
- And to the silence, for not needing an
applause.
The End - with no encore or sequel
