Encipher the winter!

 

Trigger Warning: Violence, blood & death

The night watchers are counting the hours inside the trenches and predicting the outcome of the combat a day before when you are resting your head on your lover's shoulder. The exhilaration on the television of aircraft shooting the heads off is a nightmarish one-hour episode which annihilates tons of lives. The shuddered hands tried pulling the trigger, but the tank distracted the sullen eyes that aimed towards the fellow combatant. The dubious mind is torn between killing and saving. The war paint was washed off by the tears coming down to the cheeks. 

The dispatch cruised from the window of a fatherless daughter to the door of a widow that read as "Artilleries crushed the head of two opponent soldiers". Terms like an opponent, rival, the enemy is assessing the volume of tears. The battle cry sent a chill down the body of people enshrouding themselves in the chromatic curtains which will get tinged with ruby after the war is over. The blackout became synonymous with the woeful barren families. The woes of the waiting missus disposed of under the piece of land dug for landmines. That young boy of eighteen scavenging food from the decay of the bodies lying, and retreating when he found that it is his fellow warrior. The brutal persecution took away his appetite and mourning filled his stomach.

The aberration of warfare brings a disgrace intertwined with my soul case. The bloodshed has been defining the geographical boundaries. The farmers oblivious of who they are farming crops for, their own country, or their enemies. Courage is being adulterated by my desire to take lives. The strategy of the sniper aligned with my inability to outflank an enemy warrior resulted in the injury of the thirteen years old which cost him his hands. The thirteen-years old tried relapsing to that childhood arena instead of beheading men like the ball they used to kick. But will they be able to unsee the label of cowardice they are bestowed with?

The cavalryman tried bailing out but the smokescreen deterred him. His shaggy blonde hair fluttered in the air to send the reply of his ladylove blotted out with gore from the past three months. The massacre of bones dumped in the field flew over the barbed fence to wipe off the tears of a mother. Her lullaby evanescence with the explosion that took the life of her children. The destiny of the soldiers is outnumbered by arms and ammunition. Their lymphatic body parts are hanging in shambles and poisoning the air. The ruins of immoral destruction will be recorded in a tape if I made it till the end of the day. 

The infantry tried to get stuck in but the barbed wire entered through the belly and came out from the back breaking the already cracked spine in two halves. I stared at their debilitated bodies from a mile painting the battlefield with their blood and enlisting their names in history. The sun settled but the assassin could not wipe the blood from his hand. They moped up the bodies without demarcating between the enemy; the saga of death is triumphant in reuniting souls.

The arsenal is filled with dead bodies unshrouded, as someone said that in a war "there was always somebody injured sometime through the day or through the night". The youth reckoning that the flower is blooming with the red color in water. So, he will dream about the wonderful things the world has offered him while the bomb launched by the enemies is ready to explode. His life is dripping like the young blood. Some tales of love remained incomplete, some accounts of rivalry are unscathed, some fabricated stories of courage made it to the headlines of the news. But the aftermath is waiting for me, will I survive the anarchy of isolation?

Writer's note-: You can laugh, you can make someone laugh but can you make your heart laugh a little?