War

I

12 o' clock.

The scorching afternoon sun,
Few slivers of light fall on my face.
The brown on my skin,
Merges with the sun-kissed stripes,
From forehead to chin.
My hands shiver,
Like in the face of a soft-blow, the flame of a candle that quivers.
Sweat-beads dot my face,
Under the wings of the singing fan.
A half-read book, a cold cup of tea, broken thoughts,
Slathered on my bed,
Not quite unknown to the war raging in my head.
The demons that now guard my mind,
In the intensifying battle,
Announce their existence, with a searing pain and unease,
Like the venomous warning of the snake that rattles.
Crippled courage,
A maimed will,
A dying army, running out of soldiers.
I helplessly supply it anti-anxiety pills.
The colored grenades, I swallow in two sips,
Waiting for them to neutralize the enemy, temporarily,
Tugging at my fingers,
I desperately bite my lips.
The aftermath of the war , I carry within,
Defeat inevitable. Hope bleak.
The scars coalesce to run down my cheeks.


II

2 P.M

I tear off a dried piece of bread,
Swooping it into the bowl of curry,
Chomping on it in hurry.
My face is pale, the tears dried.
'I'm not in the mood', I protest,
Pushing my favorite dessert aside.
She continues to stare,
Astonishment dressed in a motherly glare.
Sitting beside,
She keeps her half-eaten plate aside.
'What happened, my love? ', she asks,
Pushing back the dangling locks behind my ears.
Unable to hold back the tears,
I fall into her arms in a warm embrace.
A peck on my cheek, Maa caresses my face. 
And my dying army,
Prepares for a battle again.
This time, resurrected soldiers,
Supplied with pills of faith,
Crippled but walking with crutches of love,
Learn to cope,
Fighting the enemy,
Ready to scale and conquer the mountain of hope.