By Anju Kumari
Amidst this barren criticism, all drenched my skin, but the panorama of my soul was crying, asking me to go for the scenic marvel where my thoughts were intertwined to continue the war.
But I lost the moment I got my escape in between the morning rainy day football match.
Something was uprooting my belief for calling me out today.
Strong winds whispered silently, echoed loudly when I was at my weakest, " Where is your father?", "Why doesn't he come to play with you?"
Beyond the realm of mere mind, I stand nowhere but everywhere in that field, questioning the existence of my "Warrior".
Reached home, yet in the theatre of war, not so close towards "tread lightly".
The thoughts were willowing but caught by the intellect at the intersection of the 6*6 room.
"What happened, my grandson? Are you alright?".
As the paradox was unfolding, I replied with a notion of nothingness: "Nothing Grandpa, I am good".
But the boiling belief and misconception promoted to a long story when I asked, " Is he really dead?" " Where is my father?".
The idiocy of conflict grasped his emotions suddenly in a more unexpected way.
The reply came to take hold of my breath:" He is a warrior; warriors don't die; they live long in their loved one's memories forever".
Figurative enough, "He is dead".
An age-old man refrained himself from the narration of what today's generation calls dragon warrior.
But oh, scenic vista, both beauty and strife, he was eager to give his thoughts a voice and nullify my willingness to escape.
" War is a canvas of contrasts in this dance of life.
To comprehend it all, you need to get into the veins of dust and stains of blood, where brilliance and folly in harmony are found.
Always ready to make profound statements not with words but with action.
There is always a command that echoes silently in your mind: "We need to protect people; we need to save people".
Unfolding vistas that bring us to our knees, seeing death all over the place.
That numbness, holding someone's loved ones, is the most terrifying verse of war.
The heartache we cannot hide, the pain we cannot defy, ruling all over our body, seeing no hope of living, is what they fear the most.
Imagining a happy-go family vanished all red with no stain of their presence in a second.
The destruction of emotions often toyed us with fake speeches about being a winner. " Are we really a winner?".
The door knocked like whispers of breeze with thousands of screams and prayers that got reflected in the bizarre mystic field of gruesome.
The patience dies every second with every blast they hear, yet distance lends a veil, obscuring the horror.
Looking through the lens, every tick is a death.
Somewhere, a patient who got out of surgery in the hope of living long to a happy family going out for dining submerged in that pool of death.
Oh, human contradiction, in life's intricate dance, we strive to comprehend in every fleeting chance.
In return, what we get is a masterpiece of our death certificate, a tragic tale for the nation and an award to showcase the talent we had to protect the lives, but we failed somehow!
What was the reason when you drew yourself closer now to the war's cruel stage?
You realise the distant perspective that casts the spell of destruction and choose it as a metaphor to celebrate the success of war.
Who survived, survived the pain of emotions, taints of corruption, the bloody hand, the scream.
But failed humanity, where corruption floats on the blood of the dead.
With no bend or twist, or dilute or conceal, but the ultimate truth.
"Yes, your father is indeed a warrior, a warrior that never got off his duty." "
Sculpturing the tale of war, the mind grapples with views, both pleasure and pain.
Now, it didn't cast doubt and fear but the proud.
The heart collided with the words of truth blended with the emotion of a father-son bond.
Someone who is scenic but tangibly beyond the scope of brains.
Yeah, looking the war from close enough, yet the distance defies the idiotic again.
Beyond the wisdom's terrain, I saw my warrior with a smiling face, though the void never left me.
But I stood firmly with an ignited mind and blossomed truth.
The dead soul is now a free bird away from society's weight, challenging the heavens with harmony and love.
Now, I am in the future's hands, navigating through the passion boldly.
"Yes, warrior", your untold saga will live with me forever in the name of youth as the spirit of an untamed natural warrior.
By Anju Kumari
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