We wait and wait, we wait til the time travels forward. The time, when tensions rise past the rows of gratitude and the fallen.
One young man asked me the other day "When will I see the elephants" My humble response was with a resolve, "I don't know son, but when the parade starts, you will shortly know"
Gratious souls scurry in lines to defend their homes against the tyranny of the enemy. Days would pass, one after another, waiting for the call of action, waiting for their turn to fire back.
A warning shot was heard from across the horizon. Clusters of smoke peaked through the forest trees, arms exploded with each pull of the trigger.
Dropping like flies on a hot summer day. Men of all ages laid dead on the battlefield. You could smell death in the air as the winds of change shifted ever so slightly.
That same young man, to whom was waiting for the parade, had been shot next to his heart. He laid fallen across my lap. I held his head ever so gently. My hands quivered with sadness and solemn tears.
Pierced just once by the bullet, a single hole in his chest bleed slowly across his body. With his glazed over eyes and a slight smile of his face, he whispered to me, "I saw the elephants and tell my wife goodbye"
I held his hand as he took his last breathe.
That parade was his final battle and seeing the elephants was his final moment.
"Seeing the elephants" is a term from the early 1800s, it represents the time when we are called to action and the battle starts in front of us