Oh dear, what a tangle of banners and cries,
Of “My truth is truer!” and “Mine’s far more wise!”
Of temples and doctrines and sacred decrees,
All wrapped up in “holiness”. . . if you please.
They march and they shout and they thump and they pound,
With righteousness ringing (a very loud sound).
But peek past the noise, past the flags that they wave,
You’ll find it’s not holiness anyone gave.
There’s no such thing as a holy war drum,
No saint ever whispers, “Blow them to kingdom come”
For war, in its marrow, in bone and in breath,
Is ego in costume, all dressed up as “faith.”
Histories ache from lands far and near,
Where each side is certain their side’s the most dear.
From deserts to cities, from green fields to stone,
Each claims they’re heaven stamped as “the only throne.”
“Oh, we are the chosen!” each chorus proclaims,
While lighting the fuses and fanning the flames.
“But surely,” says wisdom, with eyebrow well raised,
“Would heaven applaud how your anger is phrased?”
For God (any God), of whatever fine name—
Is not in your battles, your blame, or your shame.
No deity whispers, “Go conquer, go win—
And prove you are better by striking them thin.”
No, dear friends, the source is much closer than skies—
It lives in the heart that compares and that tries
To measure, to master, to stand at the top,
To prove “I am greater!” (and never quite stop).
It’s ego that frets, “If I don’t take the lead,
Then someone will grab it!” (ah yes, that old creed).
And so it keeps pushing and pulling the strings,
Till whole world reflections mirror such things.
For thoughts, like small ripples, don’t stay where they start—
They circle the globe from each singular heart.
A whisper of “better,” a murmur of “mine,”
Can grow to a roar that redraws every line.
But what if—just what if—you paused for a beat,
And loosened the need to compete and defeat?
What if you released that old urge to be right,
And stepped into something a bit more . . . light?
Imagine a vision you hold every day.
Just five seconds’ worth in a quiet, kind way.
A world where acceptance replaces the fight,
Where wrong isn’t vanquished—but softened by sight.
For each soul you meet (this is tricky, but true),
Is not “them” alone—they’re a mirror of you.
Their sorrow, their joy, their confusion, their grace,
All echo reflections you’re choosing to face.
So what kind of world would you truly design?
One harsh and divided—or gentle, aligned?
The brush is within you, the canvas is wide.
You paint every moment from deep down inside.
Begin as a ripple—so small, yet so strong—
Extend gentle peace where it’s been needed so long.
Then ripple to ripple, as circles expand,
A more gentle world will be shaped by your hand.
Let’s Have a Conversation:
If you could design a world of your own, what would it look like? What would you add to it, and what would you remove?
