Rain drops fell on his back; <br />And red drops fell from his chest; <br />And there lay a soldier, fighting death; <br />To win the battle of his country’s honour; <br />Ah! There lay a soldier, a rifle in his dripping hands. <br /> <br />He knew he would soon cease to exist; <br />Leaving behind, a blind widow mother, <br />A young child, a wife (widow to be) . <br />He could feel the fire of the burning tears, <br />That would sprout out of his son’s eyes; <br />To know his father succumbed, <br />To such a dreadful plight. <br /> <br />He knew his kin couldn’t live without him; <br />They would die of grief, <br />Of hunger; <br />For he was the only one to earn them bread. <br /> <br />Oh! The blood dripped fast, <br />Faster than the rain; <br />He didn’t want to die, <br />But helpless was he; <br />He had himself chosen this thorns strewn path, <br />Of struggle for existence, to protect his motherland. <br /> <br />And then a bullet struck <br />On his forehead and lo! <br />His thoughts now froze; <br />And so did his blood. <br />His heart stood still; <br />And so did his soul. <br /> <br />A mother lost a son, a son lost his father, a wife lost her husband. <br />But the war was won, they say. <br />What victory is this? <br />A victory of merciless cruelty, of barbarism; <br />A sheer victory of death! <br />But a heavy defeat of mankind, brotherhood and life. <br />For many had died to win a meaningless war, <br />Of political prejudices and lifeless lands. <br /> <br />Yes many had died; <br />To win the battle that had brought nothing, <br />But grief to many a mother, <br />Many a son, <br />Many a widow wife.<br /><br />Swapan Deep Singh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-battle-of-a-soldier/
