It is a grim arithmetic, one the Western press prefers to fudge with euphemisms like 'collateral damage' or 'military-aged males'. The breaking reports from the Persian Gulf suggest a campaign of such ferocity that the final body count may never be tallied. British analysts, whose historical memory stretches back to the Somme and Dresden, whisper of numbers so high they break the scale.
We are not simply watching a war; we are watching the burial of a civilisation under the rubble of an empire’s tantrum. The United States and Israel, those Siamese twins of late-imperial adventurism, have unleashed a firestorm that would make Genghis Khan blush. But the true horror is not the tens of thousands dead.
It is the tens of thousands more who will die silently from radiation, starvation, and shattered infrastructure. The Iran war is not a surgical strike. It is a necrotic echo of the Third Punic War, where Carthage’s entire population was erased from the map.
And like Carthage, the true toll will be written not in government briefings but in the mass graves that future archaeologists will find. One prays they will have the courage to count.
