Anguish of a Mother

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Reading Time: 2 minutes

Eighteen young soldiers were killed in the worst ever terror attack at Uri. India mourns their death. The cry for revenge and demolition of terror camps in Pakistan grows loud. A multi-pronged attack is the cry of the nation. Pakistan is a deviant state, a terror state. Sudeshna pays tribute to one such young martyr, exclusively in Different Truths.

Wrapped in tricolour her boy lay 

Her mind consoled it was made of clay 

Gun salute for her martyred son 

A matter of pride to be earned and won 

Her strapping boy the apple of her eye 

Jovial impish a very handsome guy 

Robust strong with a soft heart 

Eager to help he would run and dart

Inducted to serve his motherland fulfilling his dream 

Through tragedies calamities disasters ubiquitous he seemed 

A Braveheart selfless bright young man 

Pride of his village role model of his clan

Just the other day she had heard him speak 

Of landmines grenades booming guns and situations bleak 

How robust his voice had sounded 

When he had the insurgents grounded 

He was in the prime of his life 

She was already planning ahead to find him a wife 

…when all of a sudden she heard the news 

Of violent skirmishes that turned huge 

All around her world collapsed 

Was it intelligence leak that led to the lapse? 

It was not his battle that he fought 

Between ideologies he was caught 

His body splayed with so many bullets 

Macerated lacerated by tiny pellets 

Her soldier boy’s body was brought home 

In a shiny lacquered coffin embellished with chrome 

Her stony eyes looked at his metal ridden body 

While her heart oozed red and gaudy

She looked at the lofty Himalayas impassive 

How many lay at his feet? The count was massive! 

Besides the gurgling Jhelum youthfully babbled 

Seeped with blood it rushed past and gurgled 

She brought her gaze back to the shroud

A shadow seemed to cross and cloud 

Her son’s life sacrificed unnecessarily 

So many families gutted so rudely 

Winning losing mattered little 

Those left behind were always skittled

While wise men debated and pondered 

Many soldier’s lives were blown asunder 

So many families ruined and doomed 

A non-healing ulcer where guns always boom

Once called a heaven on earth 

Reduced to rubble grovelling in dust …

©Sudeshna Mukherjee

Pix from Net.

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