The Call

It was a calm Sunday morning of the serene winters

And I hear the telephone ring,

When I tell my husband

To take the Call.

He goes over to the telephone, singing merrily,

But returns to the verandah,

With a fearful silence,

And I knew, it was his Call.

He left that night,

Strangely with a heavy unwilling heart

Though it was nothing new,

But there was something unusually wrong

With this Call.

Days went by, with me and my toddler alone,

I didn’t hear from him since the night he left

I was trying to console my two year old

And my agitating heart, hoping and praying

To at least get a Call...

One cold morning, I hear the doorbell ring

I ran to the door, only to see a van

Which carried my husband

Draped in Tricolor.

My body grew numb,

With the harsh winter adding

To the bitterness of my heart

And his martyred soul

Bearing the grief of a proud wife.

He had taken his Call of Duty,

While I sit here,

Regretting to have told him

To take the Call.