At The Line

The snow of Kashmir erodes his heels,

He neither winces, nor shivers, nor feels

The atrocities of nature.

For they are nothing compared to man:

There’s no end to what evil he can

Dream, create and nurture.

 

Down at the capital, a few learned men

Decide together how many and when

He ought to kill and mine.

Though, given the choice (a poet said),

He would rather be friends and merry than dead

And not fight over a line.

 

Visions of grandeur, high patriotism,

Sacrifice of life for dead heroism,

For a country behind him.

Ignorant of his hardships, sufferings and strife,

His parents and people, children and wife,

Indulging in her whim.

 

A soldier bleeds from head to toe.

He knows not what he ought to know.

He must see more than what they show.

Image

September 2011

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s