Through the eyes of a donation

*Through the eyes of a donation*

“It’s a boy”, he says.

Dad smiles.

Rejoices.

Prays.

For his wish was granted.

.

I have my moments.

Mother.

Love.

Care.

Laughter.

Tears.

And I turn three.

.

Dad sends me school.

Shabby.

Tiny.

Resource less.

Yet, a privilege.

.

I learn writing my name.

‘Elton!’

I like school.

I have friends.

Sudan is good.

.

The school’s sealed.

Times are hard.

I ask Dad.

“War!” he confides.

I am confused.

.

The army comes.

They ask Dad for donation.

I’m the only thing they have.

Mom resists.

Dad insists.

War is bad, army worse.

I’m a donation.

.

I see an army camp.

A hundred brothers around.

Clueless.

Captivated charities.

I’m seven now.

I get a green uniform.

.

“It’ll kill a man!”he says.

I touch.

Behold it.

So majestic.

My first gun.

Do I miss Mom?

Dad?

I don’t remember him.

She’s in my heart.

In my dreams.

My soul’s hers.

.

“Today’s the day we die!”

In glory – he meant.

Preached to everyday.

I’m a puppet.

Designed to die.

Destined to perish.

Perish in war.

.

I don’t remember my age.

My name, I do.

Elton!

Perhaps.

They call me ‘Soldier!’

It’s almost war.

.“To the capital by dawn!”

He orders.

We march.

I hear whispers.

‘Military Invasion,’ I overhear.

Don’t know what that means.

We march all night.

.

I see the sun.

I see a city.

The first time in my life.

Probably the last.

For ‘Today’s the day you die!’

Life is short, they say.

It’s not.

It’s the longest thing you do.

I wish to die.

I want it to end.

If not war; me.

.

It’s been two days now.

I see blood.

Fire.

Tears.

I’m not dead yet.

I’ve killed a few.

Does it hurt?

I need a heart for that.

.

I storm into the house.

Two bullets in his chest.

I hear a lady scream.

She’s hiding, I know.

I see a wriggle.

She’ll be dead soon.

She cries. Old poor lady.

Does it hurt me?

I need a heart for that.

.

Do I remember my mom?

She stays in my heart.

.

Does it hurt?

I need a heart for that.

.

Thoughts bombard my mind.

Do I have a heart?

I remember being three.

Mother.

Love.

Care.

Laughter.

Tears.

The lady still cries.

I killed her man.

I reflect. Involuntarily.

Thoughts conflict.

‘Today’s the day you die’

Captain’s wise words.

.

I shoot.

I never miss.

I’m trained not to.

The lady is shocked.

Why would she not be?

Bullet pierces my head.

Vision fades.

I see death. I longed for this feel.

The war doesn’t end.

But mine does.

Does it not?

The captain’s echo resonates within.

‘Today’s the day you die.’

A worthless life, but

A death worth it.

– Ishu Uppal

About the Poet –

Ishu Uppal, in his own words, feels incessantly and pens occasionally. He hails from Punjab, India and is a student of life. Professionally, he works in marketing in the FMCG sector.