It’s easy—
Too easy—
To pull the trigger when your heart is empty,
To burn the world when your soul is ash.
Men with hollow eyes and swollen egos,
Killing babies like breaking twigs,
As if innocence were a stain they needed to scrub off the earth.
They walk tall,
With blood on their hands and pride in their pockets.
They dare the sky to blink,
Dare justice to catch up,
Because in this world…
Money talks louder than screams,
And power hides behind flags.
But thank God for death.
Yes.
Thank God for that final silence
That even tyrants can’t bribe their way out of.
You can run the world into ruins,
You can crush throats with your polished boots,
But you cannot
Escape
The reaper.
He waits,
Patient as time,
Quiet as truth,
Ruthless as karma.
So yes—
Let them build their empires on bones,
Let them paint the streets with the cries of mothers,
Let them think they’ve won.
Because in the end,
The ground takes all.
And when it does,
There are no crowns in the coffin,
No guards at the gates of judgment,
No hiding behind medals.
Just the silence…
And the weight…
Of every life they tried to erase.
So thank God for death.
Because at least that—
That final stop—
That divine reset—
Comes for the wolves too.
Salima
Just me thinking out loud over here