A letter from war,

With dawn of sun

smoky cloud around the field

which was once lush green

trenches digged like nerves on field

the troops marching

boots banging ground

like a call of thunder raging around

refile all on guard, loaded

and musk of gunpowder surrounded

Our general ordered us to shoot whats is in site

don't think for a while what u find

just shoot!!

this is my first time live in action,I was energized

Sitting in a bunker feeling pride

and then suddenly a mellower tone rang

It was a bugle sing war has just begun.

I tighten my loose helmet

pulled my refile out,

Loaded and pointed at those misty cloud

Fire !!!

I heard a pulled the trigger

emptied my 30 rounds without any fear.

bullets breezing through air like sting bees

Once my red hot gun barrel refuse to go any further

I saw men’s soft flesh pierced

the land around me,

every inch, painted in red tinch

I was shocked what I have done,

What I have become.

Seeing around finding my fellow lieutenant

lying on ground

with half cut hand,

The blood was gushing out of throat,

Eyes soon losing every last hope

his skin starting to become pale

I yelled!!

be with me mate

be with me.

but he doesn't listen any more

eyes shut he let loose

his body was ice cold, like my soul

we flung him on a stretcher

with our arsenal, he seems like one

He smells like one. full of death!

his lifeless eyes gazing,

questioning what game we are playing.

Supreme leaders sitting on a well polished leather chair with a spotless suit,

on the rocks, sipping their favourite booze

And we the ones who no one remembers

marching through this truffle,

broken ribs, bend knees, drunk in fatigue,

with no night with no moon to sleep.

killing without any reason.

Summer winter or any other season

This is a corruption

With every empty brass shell lying on the ground

it doesn't cost in dollar or in euro

It cost the life of a hero.

He who unnamed died is not only a soldier who dies but..

A son, a brother, a husband, a father dies

The dream to raise his children,

to give flowers to his lover dies

his old plan to have a reunion with his friend,

the hope of an old father and the love of mother dies.

it's disgusting,

how they believe a piece of metal as honor can compensate all these deaths

It's high time we should say

wars are the organised murder and nothing else.

For finding valour in a desperate glory,

it's an old lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro Patria Mori.

It is sweet and proper to dies for one's country.

-Kartikey Pandey