Skip to main content

War is Necessary

Yes, war is necessary.

But let my wife not be widowed,
Nor my children orphaned.
Nor let my mother and father
Spend life’s last lap looking
At the photograph of me
Saluting at my passing out parade
Trying desperately to stifle a tear.

War, however, is necessary.

But my career is also necessary.
That US visa, that VP designation
And that Thailand…
Well, whatever happens in Thailand.
And that 5-crore sea facing flat.

It’s necessary, war is necessary.

I am aware that the men in uniform
Fighting the blizzards of Siachen
Or sudden fire on the Line of Control
Or fearlessly facing militants
Martyr themselves for the Nation,
But I fulfill my responsibilities too
And have never failed to offer
Koti koti shraddhanjali
On Facebook and Twitter.

War, however, is necessary.

But it is not in my fate that I,
Clutching a mug of cold tea at 3 AM,
Fight a jihad against sleep; nor,
Wearing body armour (If I get any)
Depart for a crusade against
The searing heat of the desert.
And I must forget altogether,
Going on a tour to Rwanda on a UN
peace mission. I’ll make do with Goa.

But yes, war is necessary.

(Published in GloMag, October 2016 p74)
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.
8 comments
Read more

Mother

Mother has many names. Anak Krakatau might be one of them, Or Uttarkashi or Qinghai, Haiti certainly is. She's the mother that swallowed Maui into her womb, the mother that disarmed Karna, who led Oedipus to sin. She plays pranks too, in that cheerful way unique to her. We find strange names to give them - tsunami, hurricane. Kalki is another name we've given her, for when she will be an old woman looking for some kind of elixir of youth. Perhaps some quack will mislead her to find it in our blood. She has a heart of gold they say - pure, molten lava, that sometimes erupts on her skin like a ripe pimple. She loves nothing more than the sound of babies crying - orphaned, bloodied, hungry, dying their carcasses feeding hyaenas. But hyaenas are her children too. But she is the green mother who feeds us, clothes us, protects us from the sun's ionizing radiation, we came from her loins, which is where we go.
2 comments
Read more

Rat

I'm a rat, I'm a rat, I scurry and I bite, I eat what I get, And I fuck and I fight, I dodge the black crows, I run from your shoes, But I'm old or sick, you'll trample over me.
4 comments
Read more