A Letter….

Image source : Google images

By :- Aishwarya Raghunath

Dear,
Today while writing this letter to you,
I just wish there never comes a moment to post it.
Sitting here in my tent,
admist the desert I am writing, what I have longed to tell you, something that is somewhere buried in the hearts of many of us who fight for our countries.
Whenever we receive letter to report for duty,
there inside our heart,
rises a feeling of pride.
A feeling of our mother calling us, to bail her out of the clutches of enemies.

When i was to become a soldier I always thought its the easiest job ever,
to have rifle in your hand & letting us free to show our valour.
But in reality after donning this army uniform,
each time I hold the rifle & shoot a bullet,
I know its not easy,
to see our fellowmen die,
the weight of responsibility for our nation is very high and also the emotions splurging inside, which we can’t let come admist our duties.

Miles away from everybody, while the air there would be carrying the aroma of sweets ,
the air here only carries the stench of blood, of the soldier, who lost his life in the battle field. With time our eyes have also turned just like the desert, barren & tearless, cold eyes pricking us like the thorns of cactus.

When on the battlefield during night time
the air is filled with energies of vigour & strength,
a feeling of do or die.
Theres sounds of bullets & cries, cries of saving our nation’s pride.
And,
Again in the morning, it turns into a crematory, cold & lifeless, where
millions of them are burned alive.

Sometimes when we are sitting idle,
After the war, looking at the lifeless bodies, makes me think, who is the enemy here?
The one facing us in the opposite, is also some nation’s martyr.
Why are we killing one another, without knowing what wrong the other has done?
still the bullets keep soaring as rains, hitting somebody & rupturing their heart.
We are here to fight for our nation, to save our motherland out of trouble,
but sometimes it makes me feel, what have we given her?
bathing her in her childrens’ blood day & night.

The air carries a silent truth,
The soldiers who die in the battlefield,
are not our enemies,
they are martyrs who are fighting for their country.

Everytime when we see our friends die in front of our eyes, watching
the lord of death walking by, remaining oblivious when he will catch whom, we keep fighting for our nation’s pride.
When the soldiers are hit,
the blood oozes out,
but even in pain, we keep fighting off.

At the time of death,
theres left no more regrets, content are the faces,
who gave their lives for country sake.
When killing we are not killing just an enemy soldier,
but somebody’s love, somebody’s son & maybe a sole breadwinner,
But soon it is overtaken by the feeling of emerging victory.

Day & night we pray for peace, praying the Lord, let there come a day,
when instead of holding rifles,
we all come together hold eachother’s hands to celebrate world unity.
Now the siren has gone,
our call has arrived,
the fight has began, I have to report for my duty.

I don’t know what will be the end result of the war,
but I promise my love, either I will return victorious or else u will recieve my sleeping calmly covered in my mother’s arms,
laden in TRICOLOR..

A Nation’s son..

© All rights reserved ©raghaash blog 2016.

Follow me on FACEBOOK – http://www.facebook.com/mysticraghaash

Posted by Aishwarya Raghunath (mystic raghaash)