"tricoloured" poems
To protect us from north, south, east and west,
For our safety, who are never at rest.
They stand straight, against the sun's heat,
Whether there's rain, dew or sleet.
For the whole country, they brush aside their own pain,
And participate in a war, where there's nothing to gain.
With incomparable courage they set out each day,
Without the fear of becoming Death's prey.
On their bodies and hearts lie many-a-scar,
With none to heal them as loved ones are too far.
But on the battlefield, they're filled with rage,
Their bravery and strength never die with age.
They stay far away from too many
a friend,
Never knowing when their strife will end.
Continuing to smile without any blemish of sorrow,
They know that their life can end the next morrow.
The embodiment of vigour is a soldier,
With strong willpower and a heart much bolder.
They're quite familiar with death and blood,
With endurance and responsibility their hearts flood.
Even at the last moment, they
choose to be brave,
And continue their fight to the grave.
To them, their toys are the guns,
For the time they're away from their daughters and sons.
They stand still even in the winds and the dust,
For the time they're alive and the time till they rust.
Their heads up high will never bend,
Their bravery and patriotism will never descend.
But we civilians never appreciate their efforts,
Not knowing how much the pain of separation hurts.
We hardly know how it feels when a close one dies,
Sorrows all around, homes filled with cries.
For us, they readily lay down their life,
And sacrifice their love for children and their wife.
Where we sleep without a sound at night,
They struggle on with the fight.
They keep fighting till their last breath,
Serve the nation till their death.
And when they come back in a tricoloured coffin,
We forget to salute their valor ever so often
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 3:45 AM UTC
Count the doves in the 7pm pink,nostalgic sky
Watch them blend in harmony with tricoloured flags
As crips yellow leaves fall in the backdrop
As faint chimes heard from a distant
Worship at dawn, spew venom at dusk
Our brains preserved in jars, our hearts kept on shelves
Hostages to pale white buildings are we not
Decoding the labryinth that ends at the halo
A sip of whiskey to regain my conciousness
A drop of blood to blind myself back again
Anxiously search for the poisoned apple
Disguising itself in the shine of its benevolence
The smell of incense and ashes embrace my body yet haunts my soul
Amplifying my thoughts provoked by your blood and meat
My picnic basket holds my fears and not your blessings
At least for an evening, let me escape
At least for a night, let me liberate myself from being your child.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 9:38 PM UTC