Poem: Under the Pseudonym

By: Aditya Malhotra

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We are soldiers
Weary of pointing our gunnery
At the pristine snow-capped mountains
Bordering our land of peasants
Hanging by their necks
Where reviled women with mutilated bodies
Lay unclaimed like prisoners of war
And bellies of drowned children
Rip up post ethical cleansing

In the silence of green valley
We, the sinews of the nation
Roam uncloaked
War paint washed off our faces
Wake up to echoes of gunshots in recesses
Then watch from our loftiness
Ambulances stuffing dead bodies like bales of hay

Amid gritty voices there are trembling eyes
Not slept for weeks
Having watched humans explode on main streets
Teenagers necklaced in bustling bazaars

We are soldiers
The ones who consigned us
Have forgotten
The war is where:
The sunshine is trained to conform
And currents are inscribed with badges of glory

Categories: Poetry

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