By Kalpna Singh-Chitnis
“To be killed in a war is not the worst that can happen. To be lost is not the worst. To be forgotten is the worst.” ~ Pierre Claeyssens
So, do you get up and go to war,
Every single day as we go to the office,
After breakfast, sending our children to school,
Kissing our loved ones bye, driving in a fancy car,
Often complaining about weather forecasts?
Do you bring your favorite lunch to work?
Do you wear a suit or sweater
To keep yourself warm?
What about fancy shoes and cologne
Like scent of a lazy summer?
Do you have time to love your pets,
Admire flowers in your garden
Before heading to work?
Do you follow a schedule,
Clock in on time at work every day?
Can you call in sick whenever you wish?
Or do you have a stern-faced boss who sits
In an air-conditioned office in a plush chair
Twirling a pencil between fingers
Ready to give you a strike mark?
Are there labor laws in war?
How many hours a day do you work?
Are you given breaks to stretch and pray,
To call your family or friend, text your mom
Or dad—you can’t wait to see them?
What do you eat for lunch and dinner?
What time do you go to bed?
How much rest do you get every day?
Do you listen to music and dream like us
In your bunker?
What wakes you up?
An alarm clock, or bird songs in the forest?
A nightmare, or a reveille? Do you meditate
And drink tea in silence like me in the morning?
Or run like a wild horse — till you break into sweat?
Is there a ‘Take Your Child to Work’ day, in war?
Or you do not want your child to know what a war looks like?
Don’t you want us to believe that the earth beneath your feet is
protected by the sky? How many times you have to lie to veil truth —
One must not know — by laying down your own life?
When was the last time you took a vacation?
Was it long enough to catch up with your sleep,
Makeup with your loved ones, and bribe them for
Your absence? I wonder, what do you say to
Your family, year after year, when you go home!
Do you read to them the war poems you write —
At the end of the day, and post them on Facebook?
Or you hide your words and live with the pain of
Not saying what a human is born to say to another human?
Tell me, O soldier! When you go home —
Being half poet and half beast —
With a heart half shattered and half fixed,
Do you allow anyone to touch you there — where you hurt most?
Or you draw a circle of fire around you, where you burn alone,
So others can have the light of hope from its rising flames?
Tell me, O soldier! What do you do —
Without any pretense, so I can write all about everything,
Which will never come out of your pen.
Do not sigh! As it creates a hole in the heart of the sky —
No god can mend!
Dedicated to all poets and writers who have fought in wars or have been the victims of wars. – 03.21.24
