Forgotten In a Pocket

By Archana T. S

Firing from left and right,

Loud cries echo, fading behind.

Uneven bodies—like fallen mountains—

The air reeks of gunpowder and smoke.

Shells scatter across the ground,

Companions who marched beside me—

lost somewhere between life and death.

Survival itself feels like a miracle,

yet I must still fight for it.

My boots are soaked in blood.

Thirst tightens my throat,

as I run through smoke and shattered walls.

Bullets fall like raindrops—

and I, too, am drenched in that storm.

Warm red rain flows from me.

The sound of fire fades away;

breath grows shallow, eyes blur.

I drift to my childhood—

playing with friends, laughter rising,

a cozy bed, caring parents,

and her—my love,

waiting, nine months along.

My trembling hands reach for my pocket,

where I kept their photograph.

No—it must be there.

I can’t lose it, not this too.

But I failed…

I won’t fulfill my promise

to return safely home.

“Thank you for loving me unconditionally,”

were the last words I whispered

before closing my eyes.

A bright light greeted me

with a sharp, steady beep.

My hands were plastered,

my feet—amputated.

I was back at the camp.

Dragging myself to my old bag,

I searched the pocket

of the pants I wore before the war.

My fingers brushed a small, crumpled paper—

a photograph of my family.

Tears blurred my sight as I held it close.

Yes—this belongs with me,

never to be lost again.

By Archana T. S