The Clarion Call
Serving my father's land is a badge of honour
—this I wear with pride,
Like a radiant star shining bright in the darkness.
The call to duty was music to my ears,
A melody of purpose,
—this echoed the sacrifices my mother made;
Now resonating with the pride my father would have felt
if he were still with us.
But, like a fleeting dream;
the thought of life after the one-year call haunts me.
I envision many of my comrades,
Who were once zealous and full of hope,
Now relegated to the fringes
—their degrees gathering dust like autumn leaves.
Some have become mere shadows of their former selves—
Ferrying market women and farmers,
like rowboats adrift in a stormy sea.
Others, once proud wearers of 'Kakis and Singlets,'
now don the cloak of despair—
Their skills reduced to chasing rodents in the farm,
like a farmer's dog.
The irony is palpable – education,
Which was once the golden key to unlocking their dreams,
Now taunts them like a mirage on a desert highway.
Oh! God!
If you could grant me one wish,
Let the smiles of those who answered the clarion call
remain carved on their faces forever,
A testament to the power of purpose,
even when the winds of uncertainty howl
like a chorus of restless spirits.
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