Soldier

This is a poem of a soldier. His encounter with the enemy soldier .

SOLDIER

A POEM BY ABDUL WAHAB KHANAPUR

A dead soldier is standing in front of me

His eyes are looking and staring at me.

I asked him the reason for his look

He held my hand and gave me a book.

 

The book was a diary of the soldier

It was written by him when he was younger.

The soldier was brought up by his poor parents

They were living in farm as tenants.

 

The soldier used to play and enjoy the company of the children of neighbour

Discrimination of any kind didn’t he harbour.

He was very poor happy with his surrounding

He lived in a place where there was grace abounding.

 

Poverty forced him to choose a vocation

By chance he got a posting in a military profession.

He left his village to join the military life

He had thought it would be of an adventure type.

 

He realised in due course of time this is not a child’s play

In order to live, others he has to slay.

He asked himself why man is fighting with another man

Why two countries are at war and always with  a disastrous plan.

 

He was stationed at a war front

He saw the grinning face of the opponent.

He saw the enemy was also staring at him

Suddenly the situation turned into grim.

 

At once he felt the world is turning round and round

He lay bare and without any sound.

When he opened his eyes he saw his hands tied

He was captured by the enemies  who sat to his beside.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

No winners in war only losers. It's sad to think that some choose a career in the military because they are so poor and need to put bread on the table. So many have been lost in conflict, it is heartbreaking. If only the same effort was made to avoid conflict, we would all be richer for it. For every soldier that dies, there is a family, friends and a life story. We must never forget that. Conveyed well Abdul. Thank you for sharing your work.

Chris

[ABDUL WAHAB]

Thank you Chris for your valuable comments.

[Chris Shaw]

You are welcome Abdul.

[Beccy]

There is a stark realism to this poem. There is no glory in war, only death and destruction; and ultimately, one has to ask, to what end?

None really, but as a species we seem incapable of learning the simple lesson of how much better it would be if that question you pose in verse five, 'why is man fighting with another man?' never had to be asked ever again.

Perhaps we should command those who command others to wage war, be the first to go into battle; can't imagine they would be that keen to stand up and be truly counted.

Beccy.

[ABDUL WAHAB]

Thank you for reading my poem and for your review Beccy. Hope you would like my other poems titled 'Stars' and 'Traveller'.