VIRTUAL ASSETS

 

STOP KILLING BE HUMAN ... AKSHR

 

STOP KILLING — BE HUMAN

Human civilization proudly claims progress. We speak of technology, development, artificial intelligence, and journeys to other planets. Yet, despite this progress, humanity continues to struggle with one of its oldest and darkest instincts: the urge to destroy itself.

Wars rage across continents. Innocent lives vanish in moments. Children who should be playing with dreams instead grow up surrounded by sirens and ruins. The tragedy is not only in the loss of life but in the slow erosion of empathy.

Every bullet fired is a confession that humanity has failed to understand itself.

Violence often hides behind powerful justifications—religion, ideology, nationalism, revenge, or even justice. But beneath all these arguments lie a simple truth: a life once taken can never be returned. No victory can restore the breath of a dead child; no ideology can justify the tears of a grieving mother.

History teaches us a painful lesson. Empires built on blood eventually crumble, but the scars they leave remain in the memory of generations.

Being human is not merely a biological identity. It is a moral responsibility. It means recognizing the sacredness of life, even when we disagree with others. It means choosing compassion over hatred, dialogue over destruction.

The world does not need more heroes of war. It needs guardians of life.

The most revolutionary act today may simply be this:
to refuse to hate and to refuse to kill.

To stop killing is not weakness. It is the highest form of strength. It is the moment when humanity remembers what it truly means to be human.

The Essence of Life .... AKSHR

The Essence of Life

Life is not the gold
that gathers in silent vaults,

nor the applause
that fades after the curtain falls.

It lives
in a small kindness
shared between strangers,

in the quiet courage
of a heart that continues
despite its wounds.

The essence of life
is hidden in passing moments—

a child’s laughter,
a sunset’s whisper,
a word that heals.

We chase horizons
thinking the treasure lies ahead,

yet often
the treasure was already
in our hands.

And when the journey ends
the question remains—

Not what we possessed,

but
what we understood.

ڈیجیٹل انسان ... رسٹ

 

ڈیجیٹل انسان

اکیسویں صدی نے انسان کی ایک نئی صورت پیدا کی ہے جسے ہم ڈیجیٹل انسان کہہ سکتے ہیں۔ یہ انسان صرف جسم اور روح تک محدود نہیں رہا بلکہ اس کی شناخت ڈیٹا، اسکرین، نیٹ ورک اور الگورتھم سے بھی جڑ گئی ہے۔

آج کا انسان صبح آنکھ کھولتے ہی موبائل فون دیکھتا ہے اور رات کو سونے سے پہلے بھی اسی اسکرین کے ساتھ ہوتا ہے۔ موبائل فون ایک ایسا آئینہ بن چکا ہے جس میں انسان اپنی زندگی، تعلقات اور خیالات کو دیکھتا اور دکھاتا ہے۔

ڈیجیٹل دنیا نے علم کو بے حد وسیع کر دیا ہے۔ ایک طالب علم جو کسی دور دراز گاؤں میں رہتا ہے وہ بھی دنیا کی بڑی یونیورسٹیوں کے لیکچر سن سکتا ہے۔ معلومات کی رفتار نے فاصلے ختم کر دیے ہیں۔

لیکن اس ترقی کے ساتھ کئی تضادات بھی پیدا ہوئے ہیں۔ لوگ بظاہر پہلے سے زیادہ جڑے ہوئے ہیں مگر اندر سے زیادہ تنہا بھی ہو گئے ہیں۔ دوستوں کی تعداد فالوورز میں گنی جاتی ہے مگر حقیقی قربت کم ہوتی جا رہی ہے۔

ڈیجیٹل انسان کی ایک اور حقیقت اس کا ڈیجیٹل سایہ ہے۔ ہر کلک، ہر تلاش اور ہر پیغام ایک نشان چھوڑتا ہے۔ یہ نشان بڑی کمپنیوں اور نظاموں کے پاس جمع ہوتے رہتے ہیں اور وہی معلومات ہماری پسند، ہماری رائے اور بعض اوقات ہماری سیاست تک کو متاثر کرتی ہیں۔

اس لیے ڈیجیٹل انسان کے سامنے اصل سوال یہ ہے کہ وہ ٹیکنالوجی کو استعمال کرے مگر اپنی انسانیت کو نہ کھوئے۔ مشینیں معلومات کو سمجھ سکتی ہیں مگر محبت اور ہمدردی کو محسوس نہیں کر سکتیں۔

آخرکار انسان کو یاد رکھنا ہوگا کہ ہر اسکرین کے پیچھے ایک دل دھڑکتا ہے۔

---

Self-Created Enemies ... RST

 

Self-Created Enemies

The strangest enemies in this world
are not the ones who raise their swords
nor the ones who shout our names in anger.

They are born quietly
in the silent corners of the mind.

A doubt becomes a whisper,
a whisper becomes a suspicion,
and suspicion slowly grows
into a shadow we begin to fear.

We imagine footsteps behind us
where there is only wind.
We hear betrayal in silence
where there is only distance.

Thus the mind—
that delicate architect of thought—
builds a battlefield
out of unfinished conversations
and misunderstood glances.

We turn strangers into rivals,
friends into suspects,
and ordinary moments
into secret conspiracies.

Yet the truth sits patiently,
like a calm river beside the storm:

Many of the enemies we fight
were never born in the world.

They were written
by the trembling pen of our fears,
painted by the restless colors of ego,
and given faces
by the imagination of our insecurities.

How many wars could end
if we only paused
to ask our hearts one gentle question:

“Is this enemy real,
or is it a shadow
standing behind my own doubt?”

For when the mind becomes clear,
the battlefield disappears.

And we discover
that the fiercest opponent
we ever faced

was a story
we told ourselves.

Why did we lose our minds? RST

 

Why did we lose our minds?

War is not only fire in the sky,
nor thunder of iron on trembling earth.
It is a fever in the human mind,
a storm where reason forgets its birth.

Flags rise like flames in the wind,
voices roar louder than truth,
and somewhere beneath the marching drums
the silence of mothers is lost.

War is madness dressed as glory,
a carnival of steel and smoke.
History writes its victories in ink,
but the soil remembers every broken bone.

The generals speak of strategy,
the politicians promise honor,
but the graves whisper a different story—
that madness was crowned as king.

Yet after the cannons grow silent
and the dust settles on shattered dreams,
humanity wakes from its nightmare
and asks the question no sword can answer:

Why did we lose our minds?

The Soldier’s Confusion --- AKSHR

 

The Soldier’s Confusion

They told him to march,
to carry a gun,
to stand where the thunder of cannons would run.

They gave him a flag,
they gave him a name—
a soldier of honor, a pawn in a game.

He asked not the reason,
he asked not the why,
for orders are iron that soldiers obey.

Yet deep in the silence between every shot,
a whisper kept asking:
“What war is this fought?”

The mountains were strangers,
the fields were unknown,
the faces around him had tongues not his own.

The sky rained with fire,
the earth shook with pain,
and brothers fell silent like crops in the rain.

He wondered one night
in the cold trench’s breath—
“Who profits from this river of death?”

A bullet may answer,
a bomb may explain,
but truth rarely walks in the shadow of pain.

For somewhere in chambers of polished debate,
old men draw borders
and call it the fate.

Yet here in the mud,
where the wounded ones lie,
no glory can silence a mother’s deep cry.

A leg may be shattered,
an arm torn away,
while questions grow louder with each passing day.

Why must a stranger
be turned into foe?
Why must a soldier
not even know?

For war is a storm
made far from the field,
by hands that command
but never must yield.

And nothing is darker,
more cruelly unsure,
than dying for reasons
you never were told.

So history whispers
through graves row by row:

“The soldier obeyed…
but did he ever know?”