The journey of a soldier

Martyred soldier in a coffin,
Draped in tricolour,
Resting in the War Memorial,
Preparing for the last assault.

Tattered uniform and ranks,
Cut off membranes and battered body;
Nerved stitched and wrapped in bags,
Thickened with mud and freeze in ice.

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Out of life and fractured bones;
Of lifeless body, twisted and loose wings,
Powerless, the drooping fingers of worthless hands,
The skin, flesh, cloth, one colour and one texture. 

Eyes cannot see,
Tongues cannot speak,
Ears cannot hear,
Sightless, voiceless and breathless.

Shroud wet with blood,
Tremble in the wind of pain and gloom;
Struggling to cover the corpse,
A dead soldier is a million brutalities of Jihadists.

Here lie those, who died for their land and people;
Shed not your tears on them, they will never die;
Pray for God, they are sons of the motherland;
Fought against death and hugged death with a smile.
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