The War Child

May 3, 2017
I was at a war with myself,
Like an armed infant on a battle field
With deceptive dreams of heaven
embodying the golden key.
Wearing the dark drapes, mourning martyrs
Walking down the city cemetery.
Bounded by the rules , I flee
For I wasn't a detainee.

The dystopian land which I once called home,
I left behind with endless streaming tears and profound eyes,
"You're going ahead of us", they said, "we'll join you soon", they said... but they never did.
Loss, pain and death was all I fathomed from where I belonged.
The morbid fear that grew in me from infancy,
In my new world was considered less mainstream.

Consumed by the time I survived,
Yet another war with myself
Isolated, broken and lonely
On the precipice of losing my identity,
I flee, yet again to where I belonged.
Returned back to the cemeterial streets,
Diabolic drapes and the land of the deceased.

Another voyage of survival began,
Hitherto, I sunk in my reminiscence
Watching the last ray ,disappear in front of me.
Nearly consumed by this venture,
I was saved by divine intervention.

A touch of hysteria was the inception of an
Epiphanic apprehension.
" I had chosen the departure" ,
Biding farewell to the dark past
Bearing the vows of the ones who lost.
"The goodbyes were much less painful,
There was no longer a war
I was no longer a child."
I saw the jasmines for the last time
For freedom has its own price.

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