Three nought three

Born to a happy family

To a generation of street cricket and TV

Injected with Coercive Morality

while still fantasising a swim in the sea

 

Vision of my father’s chest swell with pride

Erratic Advices, Some Rushed Choices

made me enlist for the War as my mother cried

Slept dreaming of solving the nation’s crisis

I left my home wide eyed

 

My dreams were lobotomised

Made to forget my human existence

My rifle became my most valued prize

I become a machine despite my resistance

 

My childhood heroes were dead

Dali and Fellini were long forgotten

Now I dreamt of Stabbing People with my Bayonet

The artist in me was called down trodden

 

They snatched away my paintbrush

Replaced it with an M – 14

Obliterating  memories of my childhood crush

Even the kiss in our late teens

 

Yellow, crinkly and unread lies my Edgar Allen Poe

As I am forced fed etiquette

To eat, to greet, to put on the damndest fake show

Whilst Ripping out their souls to desecrate

 

I sacrificed everything to serve my beloved nation

Commanding Officers made me sweat blood

While they pimped my country right to her castration

Washing away their conscience in the torrential flood

 

Ordered to kill and maim

A masochistic competition

Everything became

Immune to Attrition

Snatching children from their mothers, unashamed

 

Brothers, Fathers, Sons and Daughters

Bodies in Neatly Wrapped Coffins

Everyone leaked of viscous red water

And I get colourful ribbons with special pins

 

My cross-hairs on some random unlucky bastard

In some other world we might have a joke to share

Now his mutilated face brings my camp to laughter

Dimming the loss of our own bombardier

 

They Say we won the war

Politicians Make speeches and smile

Everyone rejoices in delusions of grandeur

The Corpses lie still,  making the soil fertile

 

I lost my mother’s gifted amulet

I do not remember my village tree

I am nothing but a bullet

Sir, My name  is three nought three!
– Arnav Bhattacharya

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