December bandages my oozing wounds with frost
I lay awake in the trench to protect your deep slumber
It's filth dampen my clothes not my heart
As I write this, my heart wanders
My son perhaps longs for my warmth
My wife perhaps gets tired of cooking stories for him
Tell them, I live for them but I breathe for my motherland
The tricolour flying high washes every pain
Either I would let my tricolour fly high or return engulfed in its bosom
Tell my son if his father fails to make home,
He would return everytime the tricolour is held high.
Ask him to not lament but be proud,
To not shed a tear but keep his head high
For he had left as a father to be a son of his country
And soldiers don't die, they live in hearts.
We sat overlooking the endless foamy sea from the wooden shack that had become our favourite spot. The vastness of the sea left us numb, yet we managed to mumble all the while tasting the salt peppery breath of the sea against our face. "I had never been so much at ease", I heard him close. I nodded, unable to put how I was feeling right at that moment sitting beside him facing the sea to myself. He played with the loose hair strands that the wind blew to my face. I let him. I was never so comfortable around any guy but with him everything was easy, as easy as breathing! He was getting tipsy from the beer cans and I was high on the ambience that the setting sun was promising us of. He looked as peaceful as a kid. These many months of knowing him had made me see the good that the world possessed of. I clutched his hands assuring him of my presence. He smiled his usual smile, the one that brightened up his calm face. A faint chord of a guitar, odd excerpts of foreign tongues,...
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