#end wars

[sofiaflorina2021]

Let us stand together in solidarity with the Iranian people in their struggle for their freedom, both from outside and within.

[veganpsychedelephant]

[nokingsnocrowns]

Down with Warmongers

Join the Revolution

[politijohn]

Worth mentioning that Bernie has fundraised almost 3x as much as Trump from military members.

Even the military understands - Americans don’t want more war, and Bernie is the answer.

[subduedpassions03]

War

If you have waged a war, with yourself or the world,

Then either you have mocked and self- deprecated, or cried absurd.

Anomalies. We are product of those. Wanting fire and ice, both.

Wanting the shower, but it must not rain.

Fear the unknown, yet long for pain.

Inequalities, the plentiful can end.

But they dare not. It would shatter pretense.

‘Strife makes us human’, it transforms myths to legends.

To be born is to suffer, your karma is your penance.

Wars, if fought, aren’t just ones on a battlefield.

With bloodied hands, callused knuckles, at the sound of the horn.

Wars- are fought within.

The fear, the eviscerated beliefs, the white noise,

fighting silences, louder than bombs.

If you heed to the war bugle,

what does that make thee?

Human? Entirely so. Damaged, charred mass of bones.

The casulaties shall be more than the dead bodies.

For those who waged wars, were too,

haunted by the unknown.

[thegirlmirage]

Here are the best things in the world.

1. Mutually feeling something with another person.

2. Having someone know how good something they do makes you feel and doing it.

3. Knowing how good something you do makes someone feel and doing it.

This is the new guide for living life

[ecrivaineva]

Yours lovingly, Alan.

Alan Kurdi was just three years old when his drowned body was found on the shores of Mediterranean. Photographed by Turkish journalist Nilüfer Demir, the picture is yet another reminder of how wars around the world continue to rob children of their childhood and their smile. Alan Kurdi is the face of all the lives that have been destroyed by war. This is a small letter from the perspective of all those lost souls and little Alan. It's finally time to stop hailing wars, weapons and armies and to start talking about love and peace.

Ammi, the angel held me gently in her arms as she flew towards the heaven, last night. We drifted through the mist, and spiralled through the sky, away from the ringing knells and the gurgling whimpers of the sea. I could still hear yet another friend of mine letting out an inhuman shriek as he sank deeper into the ruins of the home he was born in and for a moment I felt guilty for having drowned, for having died an easy death. I asked the angel, if she'd fetch him too, for then him and I could play in heaven without getting scoldings from you. But she only said, "His soul is the one even God cannot mend."

Abbu, you once told me that heaven is the most beautiful place in this universe. It sure is, for it looks like our home. I miss you. I wish I could tell you how happy I am. Though at times I hear bombs exploding through the night and my eyes at times see illusions of Sana Didi getting hit by bullets in the Mohammed Street, but angel tells me I'll soon forget them with time. I think I don't want to, because that would mean forgetting you too.

Me and Rahim, play all day and all night. There's never time for sleep and it feels as if the time has stopped. Maybe it's fleeting very fast and we've lost the track of time because all my friends are here and in the absence of parents we plot a new mischief everyday.

Everyday the angels arrive, leading a procession of ghosts, some faces I know well, others I don't. But abbu, why aren't they happy to see the beautiful heaven? Why are they crying?

-eva