Tell me,
what kind of world have we built
where a man’s body still lies warm on the floor,
and the first instinct
is not silence,
not prayer,
not even the smallest thread of mercy,
but celebration?
You applauded.
Yes, you.
Your hands typed the laughing faces,
your voice joined the roar,
your heart swelled
as though the extinguishing of breath
was somehow a victory song.
But listen closely
that sound you hear is not triumph.
It is the echo of rot,
the sound of humanity cracking
under the weight of its own cruelty.
You cheered as though death were entertainment.
You turned tragedy into a spectacle,
parading your righteousness
in the glow of a burning pyre.
Do you taste the smoke?
That’s your own compassion,
turned to ash in your mouth.
Once, we called life sacred.
Once, we knew the stillness of mourning.
Now we’ve traded reverence for the cheap thrill
of watching someone fall.
We drown in the digital flood,
mocking the dead while their family still bleeds,
while children who never asked for this
grow up under the shadow of your applause.
And you think you are righteous?
You think this makes you free?
No.
It makes you small.
It makes you hollow.
It makes you a participant
in the slow, grinding death of our species’ soul.
Because if the end of a life
is the beginning of your joy,
then what are we but scavengers,
gnawing at the bones of one another?
If your laughter rings louder than the widow’s sobs,
then humanity has fallen further
than any bullet could ever drive it.
So celebrate, if you must.
Drink deep of your cruelty.
But remember this
every time you cheer the coffin of another,
you are building your own.
And when the world gathers to dance on your grave,
you will finally understand
what you’ve become.
Comments (2)
Pertinent words for where we are
This is very well written, expertly even. I can’t help but admire the talent here. Still I find I cannot agree with the sentiment. Celebrating violence might seem barbaric to those of us who aren’t emotionally invested in the conflict that surround the violence. but the celebration itself comes from a place of desperation. When the powerless are oppressed by the powerful it is absolutely natural and human to feel relief and even gladness when a mouthpiece for the oppressor is removed from the sphere of political influence. I mean, Politics aren’t just ideas and words, they’re ideas and words with real world consequences, especially as regards the quality of life and safety of the marginalized— those who endure dehumanizing policies and are targets of dehumanizing rhetoric. I’d like to see a world where humans no longer act on or celebrate violence, but that won’t happen until (unless) we as a species manage to achieve equity, in terms of: power, safety, and freedom. For now the systems we participate in are fertile breeding grounds for the level of desperate anger which can be dangerous.