A Soldier to his Sword
As I lie wounded
By your side, my sword!
I see you soaked in dust and blood.
The din is dimming in the battlefield,
The lights are fading as our armies yield.
Vision blurs as our energies flag,
Astray, we lie from our flag.
I know it’s a little late
To think about a few things and rewind,
Still, some thoughts cross my mind.
Let’s go down the memory lane,
And see if this soothes some pain.
Do you remember:
How many have we killed,
And how many did we save -
In the boulevard of our kingdom,
Between the throne and the grave?
Do you remember:
The days gone by,
When you were starting as my ally?
We were soft, young and just starting,
Our affair with battle, death and mourning.
Do you remember:
My momentary hesitations, as we brought them down,
My lost appetite on days, we saved our town?
When the dead haunted me as I slept,
And my fists clenched you, as those shadows crept.
It did start, as an art -
With the elegance of music in our moves,
With the force and fluidity of a waterfall in your arc.
An oath we took, until death did us part -
"Protect the good, Destroy the evil,
Be a shield for the society with free will.”
Pleasure in wielding you was immense,
Doing what we were doing made a lot of sense.
“To be the best, and pass every test” -
Did we care about anything rest?
As you shone unblemished,
In the rain and sunshine,
I felt invincible, when you were mine.
I now ponder,
If we kept our oath of the yore,
Or did we respected the borders and the orders more.
I know not, till which point it was an art,
And when we became mere pawns in political-mart.
You are abashed of the wielding hands, I worry.
Of the lives we took and the bodies we left to bury.
You may be weighed down and a bit tense,
By the blemishes of blood-stains,
Relentless war-cries, and lifeless gains.
We played our part in a violent worldview,
Where unscrupulous battles and bloodshed grew;
And righteousness gave way to
The avenge and revenge of a few.
As I lie wounded
By your side, my sword!
Far from my orchards and the ploughed fields,
In the deafening din of the battlefield,
Confused, if I should fight the fate,
Or just lie and hug my death.
I know, I can fight some more,
Kill some more.
But to what effect and what for?
A dilemma mildly troubles my mind.
Is the goal worth the grind?
As we fight with all our might,
Do two wrongs make one right?
"Will the world be better with or without it?", I wonder.
Will we leave a world for the kids to play, and the old to saunter?
Death, lurking behind the scenes,
Slowly deepens its gaze on me,
And extends its soothing arms,
To end my misery and set me free;
As if asking me to submit.
It prefers fading away to an abrupt exit.
Submit I will, eventually.
Not now, not today.
I will slay some more, bleed some more.
Doing justice, neither to my existence nor theirs,
But to our art, and to you my sword.
Though I wish for my death, more than the ones I kill.
But I have to protect the honour of you my sword, I wield.
Again, I turn deaf to the cries and much more.
I turn blind to the scenes which unfold.
There are a few stories better untold.
posted by vagrant_vikas @ 8:53 PM
1 comments
