Last Rights..

I have never held guns..
With sweaty palms..
At death's door, so close..


I have never seen a brethren..
Hung, wasted on muddy fields..
With nightmares horrors..
His last portrait painted..


I have never shouted out loud..
To queen and country..
And run to my death, shouting out louder..
“F**k off, die you bust**ds”..
To men who wish death upon me..


To awaken the night, screaming out..
The demons lay rest in me,..
In nightmare unending..
“Let go, of my soul, please!”..


Spend a fraction of my existence..
In alien lands, in alien breaths..
And become alien to my own land..
In strangers look..
“Hey! What you looking at?...
And they keep staring, gazing , looking..
Phantom sounds of the guns rage no body hears 
No body knows what I carry"


I know not who returned..
Bearing my face, in pretence..
I was still, left out there in desert lands..
Sat next to e' bleeder's staggered breath.. 
Who closed his eyes, in  last acts, screams..


And the voices in my head..
Looks out to civilians, in civilian's drama..
On home soil's comfort and say..
“What do they know”..
Ignorant with complaints..
“If only to shut them all up”..


For Queen and country..
Wished I had never step foot..
On desert soil, so dusty..


I was not wanted there..
And I wanted not to be there..
To be hooked on bewilderments..


Flashbacks in horrors, my daily battles..
Yet, I have never seen a brethren..
Hung, wasted on muddy fields..


I have never held a gun in sweaty palms..
For I am not a soldier, to know how that feels..
To know his pain 
To all the fallen men on battle fields..RIP