The Patriot

In 2003 I visited a recruitment drive for the Army near my place. I spoke with a lad who was around 22, a soldier who was there on official duty. He spoke to me about his feelings during combat.

The blazing tyrant was glaring mercilessly from the sky,
I didn’t shout or swear but bade him goodbye.
Gave my predicament a chuckle,
As it was no time to buckle.

Woods in fairy tales fascinate,
In reality better not contemplate.
Now found I myself powerless,
Life or death I was clueless.

I yearned for the safety of the womb,
But quailed, God might grant me the tomb.
Fear often mothers nostalgia in vein,
The ultimate result is exasperation and pain.

Patriotism nor thrill for action could bring me here,
But five poverty stricken figures were not mere.
Years before, I remember standing below the shining tyrant openly,
Poverty peering through my undergarment brazenly.

Never thought of sucked into the vortex of the fight,
The thin line between life and death is the privilege of the knight.
It’s easier said than done,
For I was the chosen one.

Now stood I here feelings bulldozed by gunshot,
My Kalashnikov grinned at me ready for potshot.
Maybe I become a war hero tomorrow,
But odds favor being stripped to the marrow.

To enjoy what you cherish,
It’s important not to perish.
To die for a plate of rice,
Is what you pay as the price.