Deconstruction

What if my lines
could lie
on the borders
where men, women in uniform
standing awake as a norm
awaiting orders
to shoot and kill
would my lines heal?

What if my lines
my humblest of thoughts
travel in the minds of leaders
and make them see
in a moment of ecstasy
the inane insanity
of using weapons
on living beings!

What if my lines
went straight into the hearts
of millions
and with them traveled into
the lexicon
shifted the old definition
of soldiers fighting
with soldiers with weapons
what if it meant
not dying for the country
but living for it
safeguarding, protecting
nature
working in tandem with each other?

It will not happen.
It will not happen.
I am attached to a sentiment
I am full of ego
that’s why ‘what if my lines’
appears before everything else;
it’s also a race without kindness or grace
I am unable to mellow
down, for I want to wear the
charming crown.

Am I then warring with other lines
worrying too much on how they write
do I then use my writing as a weapon
if I do, I cannot see a weaponless world.
As long as I fight for my written words
my heavy wings cannot lift the bard
for the sake of what I said before
let ego not remain in me anymore.

Not because of what I write,
but standing for
what is true and really right
let the leaders use the soldiers
not to kill other brothers and sisters
but to heal the world and the bountiful nature.

I never looked at me
sitting with an invisible weapon,
writing for the sake of
winning a competition!
It’s the same power craving for attention.
I redefine the soldier lying in me
now writing only to enjoy and learn,
to be at ease, to set me free.