The commandant's voice roared,
As he spoke with spit-flying emphasis.
"We fight for our self determination !" He continued
My heart flew with each movement
Of his unkempt moustache and bloodshot eyes.
We sang war songs as we marched the tunnel
To our utopian victory
I saw my once soft palms get callused
With the sternness of every pistol grip.
As the war stole our boyhood away.
I was thirteen.
My khaki pants engaged in another war
With me and sagged often-it was oversized
Exposing my youthful butt meant for class seats.
But now open to bullets attack.
Speaking of classes, I was going to talk to Jane
About my throbbing heart and how her smiles make me giggle
Is that stolen by this war as well?
Violence has a strategic way of breeding violence
Sneezing petrol into the furnace
And decimating the potentials
Of our youthful smiles
With brainwash and mangled fidelity
I saw my dreams crumble
Like the houses in "San Andreas"
A movie I cried watching-seeing the work,
Of a thousand years come to nothingness
So funny how easier it is to destroy
Than to build.
Now our long-term future suffered.
My boot thumped harder
As I marched in the tunnel
Not more than my heart thumped.
The catacombs of the tunnel, I see nightly,
In my dreams flooded with blood and skulls.
But this night, Jane called my name
I rose perfunctorily from the bed.
And I heard Chisom, my sister call again
"Mom said you should get up and prepare for school"
I saw no pistol nor did I wear khaki but pyjamas
Not even that helmet that swallowed my head.
Do people wear helmets to sleep anyway?
@harrywill