The Battleground (Based on a true account...)   The neon lights flashed on the billboards, A noisy street in New York I walked through it amazed, Enjoying the bustle, Slightly guilty, For I knew that far away, Kargil burned with gunfire, And men only a little older Braved bullets To save the home I would return to... A crowded food-joint, I sat on the only empty chair, Opposite to a stranger my age, The shade of his skin familiar, Matching mine, Someone from my neighbourhood, He smiled as I extended my hand, "Rahul from India..." I felt his grip harden, And he hesitated, "Aslam," he said, Adding after a long pause, "From Pakistan..." The air grew heavy, And the restaurant became a battleground, We sat in uncomfortable silence, The lull before a storm, I built up strategies in my mind, Thought of traps to lay, Patriotism oozing, Wanting to begin my verbal assault, But for some reason, Unable to speak, For it somehow seemed wrong. Similar thoughts, Perhaps were in his mind too, For he too sat in silence, I could see it in his eyes, The anger, The will to defend his view, And yet, We both sat unspeaking, And the air grew heavier still. Spoons clinked, An ominous sound, Like guns being loaded for war, But my reluctant mind refused To follow the bidding of my heart, Doubted its correctness, Moments passed, Plates emptied, And we walked away, Retreated from battle Without saying a word... Outside, The billboards still shined bright, But couldn't penetrate The haze that enveloped me, Every stranger I passed by Was a shadow barely visible Except the eyes, Which seemed to pierce The deepest depths within me, Asking the lingering question... Why didn't we both Draw each other into an argument, Unleash the verbal volleys... Why did it seem wrong? Its been five years And I still dont have an answer, Maybe we were afraid, Or perhaps, Like every other man, We just didn't want to fight... ~ Rahul Misra ~   More Poems By Rahul Home   © All Rights Reserved Do not copy