Kargil Weeps

The sound of last post sounding on the extreme frontiers of Kargil where even a blade of grass dares to dream about life sounded like the heroes who fought with the last ounce of their blood and rapidly depleting memories of loved ones were being welcomed back to enjoy life once again with a assurance that this time they would live is to its fullest. The brass played tunes to the copy in the bone freezing numbness that symbolized only the dead could have live here without the warmth of still hot guns delivering out wisps of smoke or the red shimmering hot bubbly water that oozed out of many a pores. The unique pattern formed was a message for the world to see that “look for whom we have taken the pains and shed our blood would remember us every year this day by lighting two candles on their doorstep.”

Is it what they fought for or is it they ever wished for is a debatable issue which can only be answered by them playing both the roles of the hosts and the quizzers. Shedding all my inhibitions, I as a human first, weep with all my strength to drown the sounds of the human cries from both sides of the sharp protruding mountain with gentle slopes which lost its loved ones once more to the though patterns of a group.

At heights one would dare to tread

I live my life no more

For the weeping tears would tell my tale

Of life once lived to the fullest

At heights one would dare to tread



In this mind numbing darkness that is fast gathering pace

Aah.. the warmth still touches me

Reminding me of the lap of my mother

That coaxed me to learn love and sharing

For the fellow soldiers who fought with me

At heights one would dare to tread



Today, as I lie down and wait to be greeted by gods

I think of the life half spent with loved ones

Who wait for me across this border

Celebrating with the first cries of a new born

Of my returning back to mother’s lap

At heights one would dare to tread

Today, the sound of last bullet that whizzed past the towering heights into the ears and minds of a weeping and emotional nation have long since died. The moist eyes eagerness to meet the tumbling words have also since dried leaving a patchy wilderness that erupts into seasoned rainfall in days like today that are earmarked for remembering the dead or so they call the people in green who would have been with us but for this fight of insanity.

(remembering Kargil!!)