Blood of A Soldier

Drips the crimson blood from his wounds,
And deepens the colour of earth.
His eyes are hollow, so much death he has seen,
He was not a killer by birth.
But today his body hangs in shreds
Barely tied up at the girth.

Neither he is a budding revolutionary
Nor an arsonist with a twisted stand,
He is a simple family boy
Dutifully serving his motherland.
His torso lying on the Reeves sleeve
Just ready to hear the bagpipe band.

He is a soldier with no caste or creed,
For some he doesn’t even have a name,
Apolitical and no vested interests to plead,
He suffers the most in this game.
All because we deny the ultimate truth …


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