The Dead

I am the dirt beneath your iron wheels

The blood that soaks the earth as you pass.

I am the skin-wrapped boy, heart thudding in fear

Crouching in a hole in the cold desert night

While your flares turn the sky day-bright

Waiting for your tanks to roll over me.

I am the seared flesh that burns in your wake,

The skull covered by the earth

The trophy photographs your cameras take.

I am the skull on your stake.

And I am more.

I am the medals on your generals’ chests

I am your triumphal arches,

Celebrating the victory of your kings.

Without me, where would your glory be?

Without my terror sweat, my blood-tears

Where your victory?

I am the nameless one, the faceless one

For whom women in forgotten towns wait and cry.

When you put on your uniform

When you march in your parade

I am the bloodstain on your cuff

I am the cheers about your head.

I am the one who completes you

I am the one who died for you

I am the one who made you you

I am the dead.

I am the dead.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2016