Soldiers silence: Poem

My enemy….
the unknown soldier
from the land beside my own—

Before I strike,
or you strike me,
in this far-off, godless place,

would you tell me your name?
And hers—
your mother’s.
The name she speaks
when no one else is listening.

How feard is she now?
What did she say
when you departed—
leaving her small and silent
in the doorway
that no longer opens to peace?

Did you remind her
to take her medicine on time,
to leave the light burning through the night,
to play the old songs
when the dark becomes too heavy?

Did you lie—
and promise you’d return unharmed?

For you are a soldier,
and in a nation that sanctifies war,
even mothers
are not permitted
to pray for their sons.

Your lips began to move—
a story rose like smoke
between us, fragile,
nearly spoken.

But then—
the officer called:
Fire.

And I obeyed.
I shot you.
Dead.

Before you could speak
a single word
about your mother.

And now—
I shall never know her name.
I longed to kneel in humble grace,
And gaze once more upon her face.

Unfulfilled remained my yearning deep,
To bow before her, her pardon to seek.

(Poet /Author is MLA Baramulla)