The Gun Salute

By Dhruv Tangri

The first time I cried since the news of his demise, 

It was when twenty-one gunshots were fired into the sky. 

I was brought to the present with the frantic fluttering of scared koels flying,

I could only hear the faint, distorted sound of trumpets and chirping,

Till then, I was smoking the past laced with opium, when he was alive. 

I was lost in my thoughts till I had lost my mind,

Reading every page, every single letter in my library of books, 

Pages etched with memories, reading whatever I could find. 

A moment of silence? The death of my son will keep me silent all the time,

Be proud? When grief takes over, there's no place for pride. 

I used to kiss his forehead with the fear I hide,

What you fear most is what you eventually attract, 

Never knew the kiss of death would be sweeter than mine. 

How could I not handle it when I tried preparing myself for this very moment? 

A coffin draped in the nation’s flag is all that is left of him. 

I was given the news of his martyrdom a month ago,

I couldn't believe my ears and eyes, 

The news carved an oblivious chasm in my heart, 

I tried filling it up with a library of memories of my only child. 

Oh how he battled in the scorching hot sands and the blizzards of the night, 

Blisters on his feet and bullets in his thighs, 

Still kept fighting, still stood tall, 

Is it right to put the blame on the enemies for it all? 

I couldn't care less about the outcome of the war when I lost everything in life. 

Aren't their mothers mourning on the other side of the strife? 

I couldn't help but let the tears flow when twenty-one gunshots were blazed into the sky. 

I feel a tap on my shoulder through my straight jacket, 

I was lost in my own space, in a lane, finding it too hard to walk it. 

Dinner has turned so cold that I'm reluctant to taste it,

The orderlies tried to feed me, I guess,

I go somewhere else whenever I hear the koels fluttering in distress. 

It's been years since I saw him play, 

Now I compensate for my loss dreaming of his childhood like it was yesterday. 

Very often I hear the bullets pierce through my eardrums, 

Reminds me of his injured body, a sight unbearably fearsome. 

I don't throw tantrums when I see my child walk towards me occasionally,

It keeps the orderlies from separating me and him, with medicines that I try to skip daily. 

You rest in peace, but mine was robbed from me during that unending war,

I sit and wonder, was this mother and this motherland really worth dying for?

By Dhruv Tangri