Poetry:
Prajjwal Adhikari
The Diary of a Soldier
Mom,
Of late, I am afraid of standing at the border.
When, with a gun in hand,
I stand for security
My feet tremble frantically.
The safety outfit I wear,
The pledge I have taken,
Cannot, at all, intercept the bullets
Shot by my enemies.
Even more surprising is that
My gun tries to act
At the order of my foes.
Mom,
I don’t know how the Gorkhalis
Earned the title of being brave;
How they combated cannons with catapults!
Merely for having heard cases from history,
One, as can see, cannot rush to headlong to attack.
The other day, when a soldier
From the other side
Crossed the border and manhandled a friend of mine
I could do nothing in retaliation
My fingers refused to press the trigger.
Mom, these days I have no guts;
I am not in a position to safeguard you
When my keep my mind placid and conjure courage
The snout of my gun turns towards myself
Granted that I had learnt lessons:
We should never lose, give in, or fear;
But Mom, what can I do?
Combating air is akin to pawning one's own heart
I am defeated, Mom!
I failed to safeguard your chastity
I however have a wish:
At the final hour,
When I shall fall aground
Hit by a bullet from my own gun
May my blood engender such an age
That shall
Rinse the gun of intellect beset by rust
And point it at those treacherous rulers
Who are drooling in lust for power.
Translation: Mahesh Paudyal
