A Soldier Who Never Saw The Battlefield

By Dhruv Raorane

"It's ok, I'm used to it", he said,

always trying but no one's proud.

The bullets in him bloom,

for his pain is someone's happy cloud.

He gave the truth but they only accepted hope,

for it's an illusion feeding life.

Doesn't define it yet they find the meaning,

and always leave him in strife.

Yet he cherished his shadows,

for the dark isn't the only time you need someone.

At times even light buries you,

leaving the heartbeat in harmony with a loaded gun.

But he was a wise being,

the mind his sword and heart his shield.

He sheltered humanity,

for he was a soldier who never saw the battlefield.

Oh! But he isn't flourishing anymore,

for he had found home in his scars.

Drawing breath yet the heart goes silent,

the guitars failed and so did the cigars.

He inspired poets,

for he was happy writing a suicide letter.

But he scorched it,

leaving a grave for hell, with room to get better.

But he failed.

For he was a soldier who never saw the battlefield,

yet knew how to wage a war and win.

He demolished the shelter for humanity,

for he was raised an angel, devoted to sin.

By Dhruv Raorane