Burden of the world on his back,
But he still chooses to serve with his pack.
Far from home, far from family,
He fights with valour and dignity.
Drenched in his own sweat and blood
Body riddled with bullets and mind with screams of fear,
Bodies of loved ones trampled like worms.
Sometimes he is dead, sometime he returns,
Yet he fights with all scars and burns.
Son to two mothers and husband to a wife,
Yet he chooses his mother who calls him in disguise.
He hears and heeds to her in the hour of need.
For it is this mother who has made him what he is.
They say he is a soldier born to die,
I say he is a father, son, husband, friend and brother,
Who can tackle bullets as well as change his son's diaper.
Then one day he comes home, not in uniform
But in the dress he always wished to don
The national flag wrapped around his chest
They said he did his best.
Screams and tears and agonising wails
As the hero returns to the chasms of mother land.
His son promises to resurrect him from hell.
They now regret for asking him to sign up for the army,
He regretted that he had only one life to give for his country.
YOU ARE READING
The extracts of my life
PoetryPlain life and ECG are both harmful. So here's a collection of all the incidents I've come across. Hook up for more ;)
