" War is love.
Just Love.
Just Loving yourself more than anyone.
There's this day, when I was alone in my room, I heard these voices of Choppers hovering around my place. Those noise was terrible , so terrible that I was searching for a gun to defend, searching out of some kind of insanity. Madness , my friend, is what war taught me. I was picked up by state, assuming to be strong in mind and body. So they trained me, in every way they can, taught me to love my nation, more than anyone ever in the mainland could dream to do so. I was uniformed , given a label or something , and was told hereafter the label would be my name , and so they did call by it. I soon forgot my name, and soon everything else.
And then there was that day, awaiting for what I was supposed to work for.
The country declared a war , on some kind of communist nation, miles away from my home. So kind of remote place full of paddy fields.
The last thing I told my wife was 'Hope so.' I dint know myself I was going to the dirtiest place in the world. The Charlie , as they said, were strong. So we armed ourselves. Picked up everyone we can. Grocer, Cobbler, and so. The orders were so. Everyone fights. What the hell was that. A bun seller sitting besides me with a machine gun, getting ready to fire. Then why the hell I was trained? They said it was love. Love for nation. How different was my love from his?
Days later, I dont remember anything. I was sitting in my drawing room. The room's empty and everything was in sheets.
Not a day goes by, thinking of why I wanted to be in army. I was just 38, when all I was left with was , a single hand. My friends lost theirs. Legs, Hands and some like me, their minds. I was diagnosed and reported having this PSD.
I work in a nearby bookstore. People respect me for what I was. Army. Screw them. Then this evening , When I was alone , reading some book , I got these lines. War is Love. Is it love out of fear? Or love to protect ourselves?
Every time my son looks at my empty , hanging sleeve,I smile at him and he would hear me saying " The tailor forgot I don't have this."
War, for some reason , is baseless. It is man's crudest form of religion to practice. Practicing it with extreme prejudice. "
-Aroon Che
Just Love.
Just Loving yourself more than anyone.
There's this day, when I was alone in my room, I heard these voices of Choppers hovering around my place. Those noise was terrible , so terrible that I was searching for a gun to defend, searching out of some kind of insanity. Madness , my friend, is what war taught me. I was picked up by state, assuming to be strong in mind and body. So they trained me, in every way they can, taught me to love my nation, more than anyone ever in the mainland could dream to do so. I was uniformed , given a label or something , and was told hereafter the label would be my name , and so they did call by it. I soon forgot my name, and soon everything else.
And then there was that day, awaiting for what I was supposed to work for.
The country declared a war , on some kind of communist nation, miles away from my home. So kind of remote place full of paddy fields.
The last thing I told my wife was 'Hope so.' I dint know myself I was going to the dirtiest place in the world. The Charlie , as they said, were strong. So we armed ourselves. Picked up everyone we can. Grocer, Cobbler, and so. The orders were so. Everyone fights. What the hell was that. A bun seller sitting besides me with a machine gun, getting ready to fire. Then why the hell I was trained? They said it was love. Love for nation. How different was my love from his?
Days later, I dont remember anything. I was sitting in my drawing room. The room's empty and everything was in sheets.
Not a day goes by, thinking of why I wanted to be in army. I was just 38, when all I was left with was , a single hand. My friends lost theirs. Legs, Hands and some like me, their minds. I was diagnosed and reported having this PSD.
I work in a nearby bookstore. People respect me for what I was. Army. Screw them. Then this evening , When I was alone , reading some book , I got these lines. War is Love. Is it love out of fear? Or love to protect ourselves?
Every time my son looks at my empty , hanging sleeve,I smile at him and he would hear me saying " The tailor forgot I don't have this."
War, for some reason , is baseless. It is man's crudest form of religion to practice. Practicing it with extreme prejudice. "
-Aroon Che
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