Till I Die

There is bliss in ignorance,

Fleeting joy, for those, who do not yet know ;

Fear made prominent, by its absence,

In the hearts of those, who have only, sorrow known.

Youth lives, without knowing, that youth will end,

In the firm faith: in one’s own immortality.

In the will to combat, whatever God may send;

In the sure knowledge, of one’s own ability!

Youth is unhampered by bitterness,

Unfettered by man-made bars,

Untouched by the world’s bleakness,

Unhindered, from aiming, at the stars!

The youth will try to do the in-doable.

Always trying to do, what cannot be done.

For it cares not, about the unreachable,

Youth will fight in vain; when the battle can’t be won.

Youth is ignorant, and yet to be told,

Of the darkness that lies in the heart of man;

Thus easily youth, you can mold,

To fit, another, scheme and plan!

Such a one was lost, in the teeming millions,

Crowded out; yet all alone,

He stood out among the billions,

Trying, for others, sins, to atone!

We shall not try to describe him,

Let us leave him here, unnamed;

For there are many others like him,

Facing the soldiers, who have guns at them, trained.

In this modern age, they make a common sight,

Yet those blank faces left a feeling of incongruity.

And as the sunrise brought the first few rays of light,

They readied to fight to the best of their ability.

Yet he was no cold killer,

For, he had not yet lost his soul.

He was unlike his fellows; out of place here,

Forced to fight, by those, who, so many lives stole!

No one had actually compelled him,

But he had been forced all the same;

It was not merely his conscience that had sent him,

To fight, upon, foreign domains.

And how his parents had pleaded,

How eloquent had been his mother’s tears;

He simply said it was what the country needed,

And that they need not have needless fears.

He was eighteen on that birthday,

And his duty, he had known;

So in the army, he had enrolled,

As to serve the country he had sworn.

He had not heeded the warnings,

That patriotism would be his grave.

“I’ll be eighteen till I die”, he said,

Little did he realize that he had become a slave.

For those who called upon him to serve,

Who asked for blood; but never gave their own.

And it was really in their service,

That he stood on the battlefield, with hopes forlorn.

He leaped about with youthful nimbleness,

Dealing out, death, wherever he went.

Innocent, scarcely knowing what he was doing,

So many of his brothers, to the nether world, he had sent.

And as the enemy began to bear down on him,

His own words echoed in his brain,

“I’m eighteen today, ready to fight for my motherland.”

But now his arms, could no longer, bear the strain!

He still fought on, though it was in vain,

For, though his fellows followed the path he had carved out,

He saw through the haze of pain,

Soldiers surrounding him, weapons all about.

And now amongst the fighting fray,

He had no time to realize;

That is their scheme, he had a small part to play,

He merely was a pawn to them; those who hid in disguise.

And he did not know,

That he was not fighting for his high ideals,

And so when, came the fatal blow,

He fell upon his knees.

Not knowing that he was dying in vain,

He did not, when slowly the pain,

Began to fade away, vainly ask ‘why?’

Dying he found false solace;

But it was not false when he whispered,’

I die in grace.’

“I’m eighteen and will be eighteen till I die.”