Forwarded from yet unknown sources, courtesy Lalita Ramdas
Will Modi march where the bullets fly?
Will Amit Shah step into a trench under a burning sky?
Will our leaders, who call for war with such ease,
Stand where danger lives — where lives truly cease?
No. They won’t.
Because wars are not fought by those who declare them.
They are fought by young soldiers — sons of farmers,
Sons of labourers, sons of this soil —
Poor, brave, and too often forgotten.
And who pays for this war?
Not the political elite.
It is we.
We skip meals, mend torn clothes, count every rupee.
Education is costly, healthcare even more—
Even our basic needs come at a cruel price.
Yet our hard-earned tax, wrung from daily struggle,
Pays for their bombs — and their hunger for war.
And when the war begins,
It won’t be fought in the drawing rooms of Delhi or Islamabad.
Or the studios of loud, flag-waving TV anchors.
It will be fought in the mountains and border villages —
And the funerals will return to the poorest streets.
And yet —
The media celebrates.
There’s a festive, almost cinematic flavour to their war cries.
They dress up patriotism in glamour and noise,
But they never show you the cost.
Is this war really justice for Pahalgam?
Or is it a political opportunity?
A way to stir hatred, harvest fear, and win votes?
Our grief is real.
Our anger is real.
But revenge is not justice.
And war is not peace.
So we ask —
Whose war is this, really?
Ours? Or theirs?
We need courage — but not the kind that drops bombs.
We need unity — but not the kind that comes from fear.
We need peace — built on truth, dignity, and humanity.
Let us not be fooled by pseudo-nationalism.
Let us not cheer for the suffering of others.
Let us honour our soldiers — not by sacrificing them,
But by keeping them safe.
Let us honour our country — not through hate,
But by standing for peace.
[ Photograph by Kriss Russell ]