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Thursday, February 14, 2013

That mother...

That mother,
who lost her son,
fighting over an issue
as trivial as the nation.

She sits next to the window and remembers her son,
this young boy who would come running to her,
all sweaty and tired,
with that happy smile of the evening games.
She sits next to the window and remembers her son.

What is the nation which he died for?
Is it the same national anthem which played in his school assembly,
and gave him the goosebumps?
 Is it the same nation, which he died for?
What is the nation he died for?

He was trained to kill unknown people,
just because they wanted to enter his 'nation',
How could he define this 'nation',
how could he call that person his enemy,
and his nation his 'own'.
Had he met him at the road side chai-wala,
would he have killed him.
How could he kill him,
didn't that man have a mother too?
What is the nation did he die for?

He was asked to fight for regions,
which were unknown and unvisited,
a condition as bad as the enemy's,
but he fought with them just because they were 'foreigners'.
But did he ever realise that the people of the village he was gaurding,
were as foreigner to him as the enemy?
What nation did he die for?

She weeps as she thinks of all these things.
Hadn't it been better had
he fought not for a bigger nation,
but for a better society,
irrespective of borders and boundaries?
Hadn't it?

But now he is no more,
what could our brave son's mother do?

That mother,
who lost her son,
fighting over an issue
as trivial as the nation.






3 comments:

Sambit Kumar Pradhan said...

This is very beautiful Harish! Would love to do a Hindi translation if you permit :)

kshatriya harish singh said...

Oh sure...Please go ahead Sambit...All urs :)

Sambit Kumar Pradhan said...

Thanks. Its done.have messaged you on Facebook.