Today I woke up to feel certain kind of numbness in my entire body when suddenly the gory visuals of the battlefield hit my mind abruptly: moreover I could literally see a man, maybe in his early twenties, veiled with stains of blood and lips constantly fluttering to find the destruction caused around- which he did not realize at the first place but he definitely was part of. His eyes were stuck, like really immovable, to see the catastrophe happened and dead bodies strewn all across the muddy land. He asked himself- Where am I? Until he got the answer- It's damn war!
He is my father...
Years ago, my father was posted at an extremely hostile area- Cashmere. I still remember how I used to tell God to send him back to us- alive! Well indeed that happened. But at what cost? I almost lost a part of my father as if he had left his soul behind and no matter how hard he could try, it turned out to be the hardest phase of his life. Not because he lost his brothers and friends but he lost humanity.
Once I asked him about it, and here came the reply, "Nobody gets to live once the war ends. Its like the whole landmark of happiness falls apart, like brutally chopped into shreds that can never be made into one again. A part of you fades into the twilight:beneath the patches of morale- sharpened as an exquisite chisel that rips out the soul, leaving the heart untouched, so as it may make you remind pain over and over again.
So how does it matter who wins? The alive might be about to befall as may the dead.