Hasmukh Amathalal

Gold Star - 506,061 Points (17/05/1947 / Vadali, Dist: - sabarkantha, Gujarat, India)

O, Soldier Sons - Poem by Hasmukh Amathalal

Our soldiers are casually way laid
No proper planning or attention is paid
The dirty game is on in the name of democracy
The casualty is on rise and meets with regular frequency

The brutal murderers are equipped with lethal weapons
The bloody guerrilla wars are not openly fought and won
Both the sides suffer heavily and lick the wounds
It leads no where and does not seem sound

I read the prayers are being offered in America
For their brave soldiers fighting from Afghanistan to Africa
It is not the price paid for liberty and freedom
It is long calculation, foresight and wisdom

They die for country so we breathe in peace
Peace and harmony all over and life at ease
The history will evaluate the gain and loss
Open hostility and readiness with swords to cross

The rivers are in spate and causing flood
The water flow is thickened with blood
What message will it carry to the shore?
To conjure the violence or abhor

We can sacrifice precious human lives
If one imposes threat and believes
In violence and brutal attacks
To eliminate them with relentless efforts to track

Soldiers are same all over world
Care for no hot weather or cold
Receiving bullets from the front and dead with kicks
Life is full of uncertainty and is at risk

Fighting with heave odds and criticism
It is full of adventure and not fought under mesmerism
The reality is bitter with no show of strength
People comment with no responsibility at different length

Are they pushed in field of their own?
Does the right spirit of seeds are sown?
Does the love for mother land rule supreme?
Have we adopted conciliatory path or extreme?

If it is deliberate thrust then must be countered
The peaceful way can not be altered
The violence can not be met with violence
But some tough posture must be adopted hence

It is proving like Achilles wound
From the surface it may like nice and sound
It will eat you up from within
Loss and turmoil with no sign of complete win

It is misfortune that we have to live under such state
In civilized world it can be termed as unfortunate fate
Who may want next generation to live with fear?
With all unforeseen consequences and pain to bear


We can solute to our brave sons of soil
And to farmers who feed us and toil
We have no words to praise their part
We have deviated our stand and preferred to depart


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, November 28, 2010



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