In Asia there are a billion people who are tired of the world as it is; they live such terrible bondage that they have nothing to lose but their chains.... Less than a thousand years ago Europe lived this way; then Europe revolted... The people of Asia are going through the same process- Theodore H. White
Vision all blurry ears filled with blast,
the little rogue soldier lay breathing his last,
that wasn't the pity though that wasn't the worst,
his body will be sought by the hounds their teeth will be all he will get as this cost,
little rogue soldier who fought but won't be a martyr,
though his mother may keep on weeping,
though from his wive's milkless breasts hunger may keep dripping,
though he may have lived and fought and sought through pain,
his death will still be counted as in vain.
When he was a kid he used to go a learning,
his body in the classroom his heart for home yearning,
he was taught about the monk who left all,
yet by sacrificing everything he won them all,
who told that we were one without barriers,
Hindus and Muslims the priests and the ragpickers,
who hadn't used a sword and yet had cut the deepest,
who had reached the peak when the climb was the steepest,
he was taught of what allegiances we had sworn,
how out of the womb of tyranny child of democracy had been born,
land of the tiller and rule of the ruled.
But then he was shoved into the world to realize that he had been fooled,
and all his passion for nation into hatred got cooled,
his land wasn't his own to either sow or reap,
no one chose to listen when he had no choice but to weep,
they were his people the nation it's system his own,
yet for all of them he was a wayfarer unknown,
he was an outcast and alien in his own land,
the air he breathed was heavy by befouled water and sand.
He lay bleeding and weeping on the land to which he was a traitor,
against his own motherland they said he was an instigator,
when they didn't listen to his cries and screams for support and aid,
yet their dead ears listened when he with shots had them laid,
the nation, people, government bear for him just gloom and doom,
yet they never understood why he chose death in a land where flowers of life bloom.
At some distance from him lay another,
his enemy inspite of being born a brother,
some will shun the rogue some will shun the sentry of order,
why they keep fighting and dying that no one seems to bother,
after all they will just discuss and debate,
over chips and coffees the events they will relate,
some shoddy journalist may yet reap benefit from both,
few parialmentarians may swear or take oath.
In the end it will all get well again,
till some rogue kills or is killed again.