THE SOLDIER

He didn't know the name
Of the man he just shot.
He didn't know the name
Of the man making him the target.
He knows he has to kill, and
That's all he knows.

He is a soldier.

He hasn't seen every part
Of the country he is fighting for.
He doesn't know how it snows
Up in the north..
Or the colour of the flood water
There is the east.
All he knows is he must fight
The men coming from that side.

He is a soldier.

He doesn't know
What language they speak.
Or if they have the same relation
Waiting for them to come home early.
He has been made not to think.

He is a soldier.

He doesn't know
The men doesn't want to die.
He doesn't know
His son is crying for him now.
He doesn't know
He could've been a poet instead.
He has learnt not to ask questions.

He is a soldier.

And at the end of the war
Amidst the filth of the corpse
He sits, cleans his gun.
And wishes there was no North
No South, East or West.

Wishes there was no direction
To shoot at, days and nights endless
So he could live for the dreams,
One he had.

He is a soldier.

~Wrik~

More Poems By Wrik

Kavitanjali

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