it happens once in every year,
twice or thrice sometimes,
depends on the intensity of hatred,
flowing in the brook of a political agenda,
that wants to unite the world,
from the blood of soldiers.
look at the ashes on the ground,
can you find the bones,
that carried hidden responsibilities
of a father, a son or a brother,
all wrapped in a tricolour?
today,
when the world was busy celebrating love,
it slowly died in the arms of a soldier,
bleeding its last salute as smoke
already burning on the pyre,
that ignited tears and soaked sorrows.
a wife is widowed,
a child is orphaned,
parents find shelter in old age homes,
where is love, I will ask today?
where is humanity?
what kind of patriotism we all celebrate,
if we still remain helpless,
and let the soldiers suffer,
the terrorized hatred?
today,
you and me,
we will sip coffee,
and have dinner peacefully,
sending condolences to the family,
discussing headlines like debates,
and sleep.
tomorrow,
the newspaper will be soaked in blood,
mixed with RDX,
mass coffins will be lined in place
and sent to respective homes with pride,
homes that are no longer homes,
a brick has been broken,
a void has been made,
they left with bones,
they came back in ashes,
on the day that celebrates love,
hatred prevailed
By Sameera
#pulwamaattack #44matters #soldierslivesmatter #soldiersmatter #poetry #emotional #india
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Thanks Shreya
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