“How much has it been?”
He asks himself,
and with his usual nonchalance
Twists his left arm
Glances at the watch
Wipes the sweat off his fingers
And throws it off
Into the thirsty soil
Which boils it up
and in a flicker of a moment
turn to smoke
His eyes wandering
Focus at the horizon
No life in his zone of visibility
He starts walking
A podgy rucksack on his back
A little worn-out
But the insignia still shines
His boots have faded
But he doesn’t care
There’s only two weeks that he has
And with his lady in tow
and his elderly parents waiting
to catch a glimpse of him
ever since he left
There is an unforseen joy
that doesn’t crumble
Under the burden
Of the nation, and his family
that he still carries,
Still untamed,
Still undaunted
Unfazed by his struggles
He continues to function
And he is not alone
Of those unfortunate ones
But just one amongst many..
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