Power-hungry men who gamble with lives

“They Count Corpses Like Trophies — But We Remember the Names”

A Human Outcry Against Manufactured Wars, Deadly Pride, and the Celebration of Suffering

They call it war.

They wrap it in flags, decorate it with medals, drown it in national anthems — and sell it as justice.

But before we join the noise, let us ask:

Have the governments that declare wars ever delivered the justice they promise?

Have the grieving families — those who bury their sons, lose their daughters, flee their homes — ever been given anything but silence and slogans?

Or are they remembered only when their tears can be used to stir hatred?

Only when their pain becomes convenient proof of some “noble” cause?

Because here’s the truth no speech will tell you:

> The war was never for the people. It was always on the people.

The powerful plan it.

The wealthy fund it.

The cowards cheer it.

And the poor — whether soldiers or civilians — pay the price.

Wars Today Are Not Fought for Justice; But for Ego

There was a time when war was forced upon people to defend land, honor, faith, freedom.

But today's wars are carefully designed for elections, for oil, for arms deals, for headlines. They are no longer the last resort of a wounded people, They are the first move of power-hungry men who gamble with lives.

"Aaj ke jung mein wajah nahi hoti,

Sirf hawa banayi jaati hai."

(Today’s wars have no reason — only atmospheres are created)

The battlefield is only one place. But the war is also fought in:

TV studios

Paid social media trends

Drawing rooms of the elite

Minds poisoned with nationalism

Hearts numbed by propaganda

They sell you pride, and you buy silence.

They show you a corpse, and ask you to clap.

Soldiers and Civilians, Both Are Sacrificed. Let no one romanticize this horror.

Soldiers are not privileged. They are pawns.

Civilians are not accidental deaths. They are targets.

Both are tools in the machinery of power.

The soldier dies for a flag, while the politician poses with it.

The child dies in a blast, while the state calls it collateral.

The mother screams into a void, while the media plays war music.

And back home, the people who cheer war from their screens —

They count the dead like cricket scores.

They mock the mourning,

They turn grief into memes,

And they celebrate genocide as victory.

The Filth of Celebratory Violence, Here’s the ugliest truth of all:

Some people are happy when others die.

They don’t know the names.

They don’t care about the pain.

They just want revenge — even if it's blind. Even if it's wrong.

They speak of “retaliation” — not realizing the war is not against soldiers, but civilians.

They chant “zero tolerance” while celebrating massacres.

They post dead bodies like trophies, and say, “Good. They deserved it.”

When people dance on corpses,

Know that humanity is already dead

This is not nationalism.

This is not defense.

This is moral collapse.

Whataboutery: The Oldest Escape from Truth.

Every time a voice cries for justice, the reply is —

“But they started it.”

“But what about that side?”

“But didn’t your people do the same?”

This is not thinking.

This is the art of escaping responsibility.

It is the refusal to look at suffering because it’s easier to compare than to care.

The time has come to be people of solutions,

Not just people who compare tragedies.

Whataboutery only protects the guilty, and silences the grieving.

It is not justice. It is a shield for injustice.

🕊️ Justice Cannot Be Built on Corpses

Real justice requires:

Truth.

Accountability.

Human dignity.

Peace with memory, not denial.

But we see none of it.

We see states refusing to name the dead, leaders congratulating themselves and supporters celebrating blood like it’s a parade.

“Tum jin jung pe fakhr karte ho,

Wahi jung tumhari insaniyat ka khoon karti hai.”

(The wars you take pride in

Are the same wars that murder your humanity.)

Where is the justice in that?

This War Is Not Ours.

This is not our war.

We didn’t plan it.

We didn’t profit from it.

But we suffer for it.

And we die in it.

Let this be remembered:

A soldier’s uniform is not armor against manipulation.

A civilian’s death is not a statistic.

A child’s scream is not a political win.

Every corpse has a name.

Every tear has a story

If we still have a soul,

If we still have faith,

Then we must ask — loudly, boldly, fearlessly:

Why are wars being declared in our name?

Who is making decisions with our lives?

Who is cheering death while sitting in comfort?

“Tum jang chhed sakte ho,

Magar uska sach hum likhenge.”

You may start the war,

But we will write its truth.

Because in the end, when the bombs stop falling,

and the slogans fade — All that will remain is the silence of the dead and the guilt of the living.