It's barren, it's filled with dirt and ashes.
It's burnt and the trees are scorched.
No one is there.
Everyone is in their trenches,
Soldiers clinging on to their rifles and swords,
Poets grasping their paper and pens,
Generals clenching their fingers with anger,
And teenagers gritting their teeth as the war goes on.
They are all fighting a war that when it ends, only politicians win.
They are all fighting a war that when it ends, their city will be in rubbles.
They are all fighting a war that when it ends, no one would remember who died on the battlefield.
They are all fighting a war that when it ends, everything will be blown into oblivion.
Funny how I find myself right in the middle.
Funny how I left my home to fight another's.
Funny how the bullets and barrages of shells made me so numb.
Funny how I could stare at both sides thinking if a conversation would settle this.
I didn't signed up to destroy a person's home.
I didn't signed up to get hurt.
I didn't signed up to hurt.
Was it just me?
Why do I give out my heart and I get bullet holes and stabs as a return?
Why do I get bloodied and bruised when all I ever wanted was love?
Why do I leave my sunny hometown for a cloudy battlefield?
Why don't they come to terms?
Why don't they fight their own war?
Why do they send us here?
Aren't they appointed to be our leader?
But I don't see them leading the charge.
Aren't they supposed to be our peacekeeper?
But the sky is raining bombs.
Well, eventually everyone will know who the perpetrators are.
And by the time they know, we would all just be bones,
Scattered around a new civilization.
Our names wouldn't be in the history books,
Neither would they be on tombstones,
Because, this is a no man's land.
No man would live to claim it,
Many would perish,
But none to claim.
YOU ARE READING
this time i'll get better
Poetrysome short stories, self-proclaimed poems and presumptuous writings