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Poems On / About SOLDIER  9/2/2014 6:34:14 AM
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Shameful Soldier

Look at me –
Besmirching the whites,
And tainting myself eruditely,
Adeptly, with black – or something somber
I am morose with my pen,
And never logical
Never witty nor a blissful man
I am a wounded soldier,
With my pen and pen alone,
Shall I dine with,
Sleep with,
With poetry, I make love to
And that is all about
The creeping despair that I hold
And embellish with my pen
Look at you –
You are never a ruptured soldier
Apart from I, ostracized –
You are a saintly fellow
Guised in the skin of a human
With no worries,
You do not sulk in defeat as much
As I am
You do not grieve for the loss of love
In the middle of the meddlesome warfare
How downtrodden I am, I do not know,
But one thing is for sure, sordidly,
I do not look pleasant with my pen,
For when I write words,
My skin aches
My heart twinges and syncs with misery
Despairing with my pen,
And my pen alone, slinging like a soldier
With an ardent rifle
The time is ripe,
But mine body is not – my innocence,
Where is it? I fathom to regain a part of it
In the time of my writing, like a soldier of redemption
And lose it once I felt the sudden urge
To write again in contemplation
And so, as you find life in these words
From a fainted poet who’s not even adequate
To be called a writer or a soldier,
I die once more – and then
With one more word from a lost lover,
I am revivified only to find
That as a soldier is dispersed into battle,
I face my demise over, and over
As if a vicious cycle of living,
And dying – in my words, with my pen,
And my troubles.
Windsor Guadalupe Jr

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He stood like a stone
Before the statue of his son
Who sacrificed to protect the bound
That was hailed as supreme
By the supreme commander
Who with the band of soldiers
Gave his son a ceremonious exit
From this world as the corpse
Of the corps life lost body
Laid on the pyre with flower bed
And the shot sparked
From the guns of the soldiers
Encircling the decorated pyre
Where a sea of men and women
Thronged as if before the holy
Sanctum sanctorum of a God!
The mob chanted and praised
And elated him to a semi-God
The colorful tearful festivities
Dispersed as pyre started to swallow
His decaying foul body!

It was a decade before
His son died leaving his bride
Just wed a couple of days before!
The crackling fall of fate's
Unkindest cut of all the dreams
Of his spouse and the family
Reached the village in shock.
But the shell-shocked father
Had a wishful thinking
Had I but died an hour
Before this chance but for his son
The nuptial knot would have
Been safe and create the new generation
A dream a father nurture always!
As days passed the soldiers bride
Packed all with billions to her village
Where she was dressed up
To the take another 'sapthapathi'
With her new found spouse!
The frail old father
Put a statue with all his reserves
At the place where the soldier
Turned ashes and mere memory

The foot of the statue
Bore petals of flowers
That the soldier's father
With out fail put every year
On the day of his sacrifice
But the village and family
Forgot that brave son
Who slept not but for the country -men
Who slept in dreams!
There he stand looking
To the face of the time
Asking a question
Why the village in thankless
Leaving him abandoned
Ignored and forgotten!
The soldier is left alone
With none to glance a moment!
Vadakkumpurath Ramesan

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Like A Toy Soldier

Like a toy soldier,
We were pushed to the war front,
Some gave up on the way,
Some fell by the enemy’s bullet,
Yet, all in all,
We were all tools in your hand.

Like a toy soldier,
You gather us together,
Each serving different functions,
Some for good, and some for bad,
Some to serve as example to others,
Yet at the peak of our life,
We will eventually realise,
You have always been our director,
We were actors in a play.

Like a toy soldier,
We have always moved like zombie,
When those in front fall,
We never take lessons,
We still fall for the mistake of our fathers.

Like a toy soldier,
Those who do not have life,
Who cannot even rule their own homes,
Have always been the ones that rule us,
Those who actually could make things happen,
Prefar to stay put like a monkey,
And watch in entertainment, our degraded economy,
Unwanted children fill our homes,
Hungry mouths cry for help,
Innocent bloods are still being shed,
Yet nobody seemed to care,
As long as they make their living.

Like a toy soldier,
When I look at others,
I really wished I could copy them,
Yet on a second thought,
When I take a closer look,
I found out, they were already copying me.

Like a toy soldier,
I may not have the life I desire yet,
I may even feel unhappy with myself now,
Yet I chose to add meaning to other lives,
By making my own life relevant.
Olumide Bisiriyu

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My Soldier

I see it on the news.
Stories of soldiers being killed.
I always prayed that it's not you,
I wish I knew that you were safe,
I don't think that I can handle your death,
You are my soldier, and you
Mean everything to me….

The bombs exploding, I pray that you aren't hit.
That would cause my world to end.
I needed you in my life.
I pray that you would come home soon.
I know it was your dream
To be a soldier, protect the innocent
Tell me this, is it worth dying for?
Who is the enemy you are fighting?
Dead scared child with a gun?
Made me see that this war is useless
There is no hero, only a grief in a war

I wish war would end soon….
For you to come home, I missed you
I barely do anything these days
My heart stops, when I hear the door bell
Afraid to see a soldier on my door step
Telling me my worst fear, not seeing you live
Just heard the news of soldiers being killed.
I prayed that it was not you, my soldier.....
dush swaranga

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