War Poem by Murali Sappa

Yonder, the wails of a lonely siren;
Wonder, the foe sensed our forays!

My watch now; the war room portrayal
still in the back of my mind, I patrol.

Steadying the wobbling knees,
defying the engulfing darkness,
I emerge out of the trench
remembering the sacrifices of yore;
boldly with bravery, I march,
bestowed upon by the bygone heroes.

The war is on, ahead a nation -
trampled, withering under oppression.

War for peace; War to end all wars -
rhetorical nonsense reverberates;
Runaway banter from the leaders
gushes, unchecked; strife escalates.

Sometimes we are in the wrong,
Sometimes we are the ones wronged;
I cross my heart and just pray,
That the cause now is but just.

We were the saviors of the downtrodden,
till we faced the defenders of their nation -
Eyes twinkling with honor, young and proud,
ready to trade their lives for their liberation.

Face to face, guns pointed at each other -
All I see is a mirror image of myself,
Tired and exhausted, yet intrepid;
Ready to fight till the last drop of blood.
Away from home, drunk with patriotism;
Defending the ideals of our homeland.

One moment I look into his eyes;
Hiding behind the curtains of valor -
lies the ardent intent to fulfill a vow,
and return to wipe the teary weary eyes;
I see the longing to unite and awe
the unborn child left behind forever.

Closing my eyes, soul slipping into shadows,
I pepper bullets all around into darkness,
For it is him or me to be the last one standing;
I look into his eyes, half closed, death wrapped.

That moment I remembered, the younger myself
And the squabbles that I had with my sibling.
Sometimes a parent stepped in to restore order;
Sometimes I gave in to the sorrow that I inflicted,
And made peace with the puddles in the hurt eyes;

War over, embracing victory, introspection ensued;
All around bodies strewn, body bags and tags await,
Those who fought alongside and against;
Heroes of their nation, never to be seen again;
Gathering the broken lives, victors and vanquished
alike, march ahead on the long road to mend;

The sorrow puddles in the hurt eyes
of the little brother haunt again;
Reminding me of the silent oaths of yore,
To never ever hurt again.
War over, but the hatred lingers centuries more,
Waiting moms and kids both sides grieve the same;

Emotions adrift, sanity bereft
Madness sways, sullen eyes survey.
Winter chill descends over martyr's grave
Sluggard winds carry cold sweat.

Thirteen folds of the stars and stripes
adorn the caskets of the unsung heroes.
My soul wakes up for the
twenty-one-gun salute.