Written By: D. Collins 12/3/24
There'll be one left standing at the end of the day.
The commanding one in each and every way.
Head held high with medals on their chest.
Always on point with little to no rest.
They articulate what may be God's will.
Every word spat out is truthfully real.
Like Moses they won't enter the "Promised Land".
They'll be the foot soldier making the last stand.
Never bowing down to what is not right.
One left standing at the end of the fight.
Stand up for those who can't fight for themselves.
Taking down their foes unlike anyone else.
I used to be a foot soldier in my own civil war.
I used to be both a cannon and its fodder.
It took a lot of killing to bury that old self,
still, on occasions, it struggles to escape
an old war grave,
its blood-soaked hands reaching upwards
to seek out this more tranquil veteran
I have become.
Without an invite,
You took me in,
A perfect stranger,
Without further ado,
You embraced me,
An unexpected guest,
When I had taken to you,
Then I realized,
Then I understood,
I had a few days to stay,
Few days to sail with you,
Continuum of days to go
onboard with you,
The thought of these saddens me,
I try hard to put up a smile,
I try to blanket my feelings,
It's hurting deep within.
Day and night come,
The clock ticks away,
It's as if time is on a run,
Like the end of days is near,
Like doomsday approaching,
How do I wish time can be trapped,
How I wish it can be made to stay
still for a while,
Or at the very least made to decelerate.
Time - a fundamental quantity,
A measurer of events and occasions,
A foot soldier with his artillery,
A harbinger of separation,
I am of the hope that we'll meet some
time to come,
Then we'll no longer be apart,
Not anymore,
No space between us.
The
glow
from the fire
of your great vision
has changed the direction of my soul
Once I lacked the will to live and carry on with life
Now, a forward marching foot soldier shining a guiding light for others to follow
COPLA SEIS : This Bad Guy World
Politicians hatch decisions
After much show of bravado :
Innate cunning
First stage gets set through collusions
Actors then strut words with much glow :
Only miming
Wounded foot soldier falls with flag
Families pray and people pay :
Penthouse lords jive
Politicos salute their rag
« God Bless My Country », so they say :
« All the rest : Dive ! »
(To be continued)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Trite foot soldier status lacking
Pedigree earned by under stress not cracking
Anonymous ward of the state with little backing
Nameless face sent into the infernal abyss hacking
On unstated mission sent packing
In an unknown, unfamiliar field bivouacing
An amorphous, invisible foe tracking
Without reserve an unidentified conscript attacking
On an obscure plain flailing and whacking
Unseen rifles and cannons above the tumult clacking
Unnoticed, soldier falls during the shellacking
Body hurriedly pushed into unmarked grave after the sacking
Unacclaimed minion; no metals racking
I allowed you to tread on me unflinchingly.
My mind on pause,
ungrieved you turn back the clock.
Enough to stun the century,
I take cognisance of divine’s club foot.
I did not believe in self-pity
but I was racing against time
to avoid a jealous path running with me.
Yet I was sleeping on bushes of estranged thorns
without locking my golden age.
Tulips are no more my favourites.
You have to dig deep to plant the bulbs
and wait. When death opens the door for me,
I wanted to be free from any commitment
and ready to walk in, like a foot soldier.
This cosmos is mine, body is for you.
It no more obeys my command.
No more commas are needed,
a final full stop will do.
I am returning back to my home.
SATISH VERMA
My name is Don Quixote Del La Mancha.
I am a knight in the coat of arms
Give me a lance, give me a sword, and give me a steed
Where is the king in all of this?
I wear the Royal Spanish Crown and Gold Seal of San Fernando Levante
I solemnly swear that booty and bounty shall rest with the king
Even the Catholic Church Christen me for a swift victory
I have signed and sealed orders to save the Princess Donesia Del Debosa
Then, I shall rescue her from the evil clutches of the windmill dragon
My chief architect, Poncho Sanchez is my right arm and canteen
He is responsible for fresh food rations, cold drinks, and other supplies
providing sustenance to our great adventure through the enchanted land of Spain. Even the sky clouds are shaped like windmills and blue dragons. Just pause for a moment and you can hear the sweet coronet horns played by the Spanish Royal Guards, along the way.
A gallant foot soldier is he, thus Poncho trails me like a Swiss Guard,
With his burro donkey friend, named El Donkey Camino Blanco
As we approach the last horizon of the day, the code of chivalry shall not die