khaki

When you live in a town bordering the LOC and have friends who would bring you subsidized grocery from the army canteen you know the lives of soldiers, their wives, their choices and fears. No doubt they are always ready to jump in and defend the country but given a choice they would choose “no war” always. 

I see people cheering political advances on other countries, people cheering the thought of war, the thought of proving their country’s might and then I see the worried wives around me waiting for war to start. Their lives slow down and their families join together to grieve. They are warring in their heads all their life for their husbands, sons and lovers…this poem is to them and to the agony of waiting to loose someone. 

That drenched uniform with

sand water oil mud and blood, 

That pair your size 10 boots

polished and sewed,

That hat of yours

with medal and stars

The paper scribbles unreadable

The time stopped watch of yours

My long lost earring, I have found

And pictures you said that you had lost 

I found them all

With your scattered bones

The spilled blood

In the field that you lay

For hours to the death

I found the case of bullet

near your head

Where you dragged yourself behind that rock

and pulled with hands the legs

There were stains of blood from your breath

where you hid

I found that naked man

With clothes to hide and the soul pulled out

Your heart pounding where the insects murmered

If you would live or die

And where you sat waiting for your death

your last breath

and that poisonous lead

Is everything that your KHAKI reminds.

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