The lullabies were the screams of fellow brothers; the nightmares were the silent nights. The murmurs of the long grasses around the end of the shelters were supposed to make us feel safe, but a slim voice of crickets used to get us on our feet.The patrolling of the enemy troop doesn't allow our soaking feet inside the ripped shoes to breathe in fresh air. I remember the nights were cruel to our scars. They were left alone to think about themselves, which is when they used to make us take turns on the broken bed inside a damp tent. The one who first came with happy colours in the marines can't even recognise the difference in the hue of blood and pomegranate. A war begins with a loud howl of men who are proud of their masculinity and ends up questioning their motive & humility. I used to carry books with me to allow my mind to stay educated in the field of blood & iron. I remember Sam sitting beside me like my son and asking me to read what I wrote to a lover whom I never confessed. A bullet never scared me that much, but that angel dressed in a flower with the flaring nostrils used to make me clench my heart.I slept with potential corpses at night. I don't fall asleep now. I close my eyes for sure, but the memories of mortars have turned mine into dog eats. The war virgins dream about my being in a war, being a hero, being a guardian to their nation, but the ones who were fucked every night & day with the horrors of blood & shrapnel in their heads never asked for more.
--apollo--
