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My brother- a soldier
You're gone
There's blood all over your uniform,
And bits of it on your beard,
I begged you not to grow a beard,
but you said, it looks cool
And believe me, it does look cool
All the neighborhood beauties cluster around you,
Beautiful tears rimming their lustrous eyes,
I wish you could get up, and see them,
Dabbing their flushed cheeks,
With a laced handkerchief,
Mother is sprawled on the ground,
She embraces your lifeless body,
Father is motionless; his skin a drab grey,
For his prince lives no more,
I stand with trembling fingers,
I'm sorry for stealing your ball pen, 'O' brother,
The golden ball pen that the army gave you,
I wish you would wake up,
And give me a good shake,
And a gentle scolding as well,
I bend over you,
The serene expression on your face pricks my heart,
Yet, what grieves me the most
Is the sight of the gun in your belt-buckles,
The cold nozzled gun,
Devestates me,
Yet what hurts me the most,
Is that,
When I bend over, to put the pen in your pocket,
I cringe,
For the gun is still loaded
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"A tribute to a soldier"