Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘soldier’

Tell me how I should not,

cross paths with years-

I avoided to wage wars

with you.

 

History lays the casualties.

I hungered for more but

you left me with nothing.

Instead, ransacked my feelings

used to crowd with many.

 

We exchange fires,

empty bullet shells.

Words wound like shrapnel

of the beginning to an end.

 

Courage sometimes do not reward

the martyrdom of a soldier.

Nor losing the only option

to breath beyond

the unforgiving

and survive.

 

Disarmed,

undecided

to surrender

love.

Read Full Post »

I

We came to know war as we see the carcasses

dance in the seawaves, lapping on the crimson shore.

Lulling back and forth to its mad rhythms.

 

The symphony of air raid bombs digging

graves for the fearless and the brave.

These patriot’s sons fading like the last puffs

of smokes from an old man’s cigarette growing

into mushroom clouds eclipsing the day.

 

Bullets strafing the night from the enemy’s line.

Strayed as wolves lacerating flesh upon flesh.

Blood upon blood. Our men tumbled half-dead

in deep trenches squirming the earth like worms.

 

Dead bodies heaped on a hill-mound.

where bayonet stands a flag of conquest.

In the name of the mortar fire, boys learn

the lessons on how to become a  man-

scarred and sculpted like a wounded bark

of a leafless tree bleeding young.

Whose innocence is his first casualty

snatched from the destiny’s hand.

 

 

II

Severed limbs- heads, hands and legs littering

this blood-soaked earth. Hungry of men’s bodies

spangled of exploded grenade shells. Their entrails

gushing out from half-cut torsos, splayed bones

and pulped brain from shattered skulls popping

like balloons. Amidst the stench of rotting human flesh.

 

Here is a feast. The slaughter of the lambs

for the gods of war. As real as it gets.

A montage of splintered and scorched

colors of midnight- this numbing blackness.

Where lives are lost in combat, felled

one by one. An unfathomable pain.

 

Survivors were left scavenging through

the wretched and the grotesque. Soldiers

with a  missing eye, a missing ear,

a missing  teeth, a missing heart,

a missing sanity and nothing remains

but memories of what have been.

Kept hidden within books and letters

among wooden barrels and wooden crates

longing for the warmth of home.

 

The gloomy spectacle has just began.

Pushing our luck for a chance to live

one more day in a battle waged in anger

and uncertainty of our fates. Our fear

to glimpse the fragiled face of death.

And an end to this misery and suffering

akin only to a soldier.

 

 

III

Somewhere

in a strange and foreign harbor,

when the battleship moored-

the world becomes so small

as the wandering clouds casts

its lingering shadows over

the returning and lucky.

 

Admired for the great sacrifice.

The news of the day.

A hero’s welcome.

 

In the deluge of confetti

and waves upon waves of flags.

Shoulder to shoulder, hard-pressed,

stinking and slipping away

from the remotest of islands

to wide open spaces prowling

for some intimate connection

curing their isolation.

 

Starving, gripping cold

over mugs of beer, vodka,

brandy and rum. Drowned

to the muffled voices of women.

And women seeing part of them-

like knights from some medieval era-

an illusion of the men concealing

their broken selves. As if this

is the last night of the world.

 

They seek in the arms of strangers

the completeness of their wholes.

Of their filed lives. The monotonous

order of a soldier’s life. Aimless,

and disconnected. No promises.

No excuses. No hope of ever returning

to the dreamy life they left behind.

Only the stark reality where sadness

cuts the deepest wound into their morrows.

 

 

IV

Jungle has become our greatest enemy.

The rain lashed endlessly as if-

heavens never run out of its tears.

Weeping for the impending farewell.

This tempest, the mud and the flood.

 

The rain became empty bullet shells

mourning at this God-forsaken place.

Lethargy stripping us down, our morale.

As mud sticks closer like the hands

of the dead soldiers we lost. Deepening

the burrows of sorrow and regret.

 

Man to man, we cry like long-lost brothers.

Hoping if the leafless trees will no longer be

prison bars that caged us in the necessity

of killing.

 

V

At noontime, the sun simmers the hearts

of the amateur, the frail and the unsure.

As soon as  the amphibian tanks

landed against the somber shore,

the replacement fighters crawl

like little crabs maneouvering

for the first time. Unscarred.

Advancing inch by inch for cover.

 

The reality stings when they begin

to witness the rushing bloodbath

from dead soldiers lying abandoned

atop sand bags, slumped in trenches.

Their bodies tattered and ravaged

by this war’s early conquests.

 

The warships sinking in defeat,

swallowed up by the crimson sea.

And warplanes crisscrossing

the vastness of the red sky.

Dropping bombs into hills etching

craters into the deep forest. Burning

tanks and the walled barricades.

Ashclouds falling like moondust.

 

The thinning battalion  outpaces the path.

The slow credence keep marching through

the columns of ash billowing and sifting

like fingers of fallen bombs scouring the earth.

Crashing like meteors from heavens clawing

for life. As stars flicker signals for the rescue.

We run the race sheltering for our safety.

 

 

VI

We are outnumbered and overwhelmed.

Waging a battle for a bitter peace.

The end is not in sight.

 

We have fought as vultures today.

Plundering for armaments and ammunitions

refilling our dwindling resources.

 

For every bullet costs an enemy’s life.

And the chances to survive in the game

of life over death lengthens.

 

The bullet is the only salvation, they say.

I think it’s true. Since the enemy also pray

to God all day. Soon, we will both die anyway.

 

Don’t look back, soldier.

Don’t retrieve the man behind you.

Keep your stance or get killed.

 

 

VII

Loneliness. Fear. Filth.

Hunger. Cholera. Lack of  sleep.

And a fellow soldier dies. Is like a boulder

of rock rolling away so steeply in the day

of no man’s rain but tears in agony.

 

You can’t dwell on it.

Men falls like leaves in autumn.

 

As the artillery come and go

And our heavy foot falls eager for home

as we walk on this shaky ground.

Our sagging spirits sinking in a quicksand. 

 

There is a silent lamentation growing

into a strange language of anguish.

The gnawing conscience inside of us.

 

 

VIII

We call the enemy as rats.

Deep in their fouled dug-outs and bunkers,

we drop the grenade. They storm out

disoriented, swarming for exit like flies.

We kill them like rats. Whose teeth

of resistance nibbling in our flesh.

 

We shoot them exacting our revenge and hate.

In fear and paranoia.

 

As the days of fighting drained our energies,

hoping to live for one more day. The sound

of distant bombs and the exchange of gunfire.

This killing field and the bloodshed.

The sight of dying soldiers and evacuees.

The crying widowers and children.

The torture of captured enemies.

They all became ordinary.

 

No one wants to give in. No one wants to surrender.

 

The grey mist of melancholy settles here. And we keep

our silent lamentations deep within our hearts.

This war still rages on through the many wintry days

and nights of young lives falling like snowflakes.

And the tombstones are crowding hills, growing

like little anchors for me to keep on. And try living

through these horrors of war.

 

As I am holding up that scarlet tainted flag.

 

 

IX

It’s raining ashes today.

Clearing away the embers

among the crevices of silence.

God’s pencil is being sharpened

and graphite is being pressed down

into the annals of men’s history.

Remembering acts of heroism

that flowed through these shores.

 

Soldiers who were born to fight

for liberty. Whose death-

their immortality engraved

in epitaphs. Their creed

of no surrender. Only victory.

Moving toward for a dream

to be free at last.

 

Blessed is the man whose wound

is worth much more than a thousand

medal of valor. Who brave the odds

and stand up for what he believed in.

Fearing no evil. Outlasting more

than the courage he could have

ever known.

 

 

X

The dust of war is over.

 

As light flares brightening the night sky

like my fellow soldiers twinkling as the million stars.

Did it really end? Am I waking up from a bad dream?

I walk past the familiar rooms, returning home.

 

Nothing has changed. But the boy is not there anymore,

only a stranger and its long stretches of silence.

With empty gazes through the window

from sunrise to sundown. Nursing the wounds-

the images of war that would not heal.

 

Free yet imprisoned- to a time and a place

when human suffering numbs compassion.

When freedom was fought in blood,

whose only hope is to outlive death.

 

Peace is here. But the inner voices of men

still never ceases asking why.  

Read Full Post »

Look at me.

A corporate soldier.

Working wounded

in the company of men-

wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Deceiving as snakes.

Cunning as sharks.

 

And here, the desk became

my war machine. Riding

in the engines of my brain.

Words and strategies wielding

like speeding bullets, as weapons.

 

I must learn the art of combat.

 

And it’s going to rain today.

But not of the sky.

But with paper planes

piling up in my incoming tray,

touching down like flies.

 

The cubicle is a battleground.

 

I need a saving grace, ejecting

from this capsuled seat. When

life signals on a high wire-

blinking signs of warning.

Maneuvering survival,

evading a free fall.

Beating the deadline.

 

I’m burned out.

Read Full Post »