A letter from a son on the battle front to his mom...
A big hi from your dear son here,
I am perfectly all right, so dont you fear.
Save for the occasional blast that chills our nerves
Im happy and grateful for the chance to serve.
Canned tuna and K rations make me miss home,
About the quality of food here, I could write a tome.
Upturned helmet serves as soup bowl, as mobile latrine.
A hot shower is a fictional story I'd read in a magazine.
We are the pointed end of the political lance
But we'll die in our own shit before we get the chance
To whip the enemy, Im sure they are the same
Stuck in their trenches since the war hell became.
I wonder sometimes, when they break out of their dirty holes
How I will feel after I kill a soul.
Happy that each kill brings me closer home, away from strife?
Guilty that I stole his chance to a fruitful life?
Angry that politics can turn men to murder?
Wishing all the bullets would stop, not go further?
It begins, mom, I gotta go now and fight
Cant think of anything else now, just what is right.
I may live or die, but dont you weep
You will get this letter, for I hide it deep.
And should you get it bloodied, don't you cry
Just know that your son is home, for his soul didnt die.
I am perfectly all right, so dont you fear.
Save for the occasional blast that chills our nerves
Im happy and grateful for the chance to serve.
Canned tuna and K rations make me miss home,
About the quality of food here, I could write a tome.
Upturned helmet serves as soup bowl, as mobile latrine.
A hot shower is a fictional story I'd read in a magazine.
We are the pointed end of the political lance
But we'll die in our own shit before we get the chance
To whip the enemy, Im sure they are the same
Stuck in their trenches since the war hell became.
I wonder sometimes, when they break out of their dirty holes
How I will feel after I kill a soul.
Happy that each kill brings me closer home, away from strife?
Guilty that I stole his chance to a fruitful life?
Angry that politics can turn men to murder?
Wishing all the bullets would stop, not go further?
It begins, mom, I gotta go now and fight
Cant think of anything else now, just what is right.
I may live or die, but dont you weep
You will get this letter, for I hide it deep.
And should you get it bloodied, don't you cry
Just know that your son is home, for his soul didnt die.
4 comments:
Vish, ur poetry is too good.....wow!!!! I can't write like this....truly u r the bard of mulund....I miss u bro.
thanks :-)
Dude ths one is to remind u there's someone whi still reads ur blogs :)
btw mr anonymous was krusaint
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