To serve the country
A part of his personality.
With no taste for…
Ping Zing Diplomacy,
An officer is born.
Bullets zinging past him, dust flying,
Bound together, they fight.
Back to back,
Brothers from another time.
He doesn’t fight,
Because he hates what’s in front,
But to protect those,
Whom he left behind.
Aches and yearning;
He knows not when it will dissipate.
Playing in his mind,
The rushing blood and adrenalin.
Bullets crackling above him,
The war; it will stop one day, right?
But on the court of life,
Paid Media and Human Rights Activists,
Deciding his fate
No competition but allegations;
Again and Again, taking pot shots at him.
Accusations searing a black hole across his heart,
And in a moment passing faster than the blinding flash,
Of a supernova; he’s gone… forever.
This is dedicated to the Soldiers and Officers of the Indian Army who are always on the receiving end of the Paid Media and Human Rights Activists.
© All Rights Reserved.
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