The Morning of the War

The rucksack hanging down on a side
In it lies all the supplies for sustenance
Guns loosely hanging on the other
Jumping and jiving with the rhythm of the boot
For it doesn’t know its counts of sin
Both balances the shoulders and
The line between life and death
We seek out to the path of justice
Thumping down the barracks
Out the meadows and lakes
Life is taking the toil on him
For his hands smells of blood
And the mind shivers of blood-curdling wails of helpless souls 
that left their dilapidated embodiment to attain the abode of peace
and of the heart touching wails of weeping homes
that lost their beloved love
The tremor of the consequences shatters the heart
The valor of a man braves it well
For he who knows the dharma of war,
It is nothing but, do or perish 
Going to the battlefield is a task
Ahead lies misery and grief
but the end of the path is glory and laurels
Seeking the man and his kith and kin
Girding up his loins and
keeping his mind set and ready 
The moment of war
that seeks not more, but the whole of you
Flee out of sight, so you will
lose out what is all you pride
Fight the way out, 
The road to glory is not that all
All what matters for him is 
his dignity upheld

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