Deathly Delusions

An imaginary notion  and very real deaths                                                                Anita Ratnam

Bombs  exploding

Grenades landing

Gunshots piercing

Incessant shelling.

Midst  these  blasts

Are  high pitched

News  broadcasts

I struggle to hear  my inner voice.

All I get is a shrieking noise,

The noise of my fellow Indians.

Their battle cries surround  me

Miles away from the’ front”

With every  peak “we” take.

In  anguish  I  quake

this jingoist fervour

Rattles me

 But I  dare  demur

Or  make a murmur.

 What  if  they  call  me “traitor”?

What if I’m  accused  of  treason?

But, is  this  not  a travesty of  reason-

In the  name   of  mother  nation

To turn our young soldiers

Into  patriotic martrys

And then  glorify

Their unnecessary deaths

Declaring them heroes

Killed by our foes?

Oh, we’ll do anything

But ponder

Whose homes and  fields

Are on those slopes

What do  they  feel

 About a war

That sees them

As unwanted  baggage

Or  maybe just

Collateral damage.

.

Ah, we’ll do anything,

But question

Whether

Our sons, fathers,

Husbands,  brothers  and lovers

Whose  arms and bosoms

We yearn for

Whose dreams and passions

Are  “lost in action”-

Were really, merely

 Victims of our imagination.

With every   hill  or  vale

That  India “takes”

Cheering reaches a crescendo

Celebrations follow

TV  channels vie to  show

Ministers giving out medals

And stoic  army funerals.

As body parts arrive

In sealed  body bags

I  wonder

Does  it hurt   any less

If a  son’s coffin is draped

In  a  tri-colour flag?

School children collect money                                         

Some  arrange  blood donation

For our boys at the front

Defending  the “nation”.

I find nothing to be jubilant about

When  young men  take to killing

For a delusionary notion .

And lie dying

On both sides

Of a line of non-control.