In The Trenches
I never had a family, no children, no parents. I am now a father to them in this orphanage… every day I see my children collapse into their watery graves, their toy, a deadly weapon, their game is a gamble for #life and I ask myself, where is God to stop this horror? Lips, made to whisper the prayers, have become the agents of cursing and blasphemy; I lost my faith in this godforsaken land, I am now one of them, one of thousands.
Trenches are our home, our grave. The ghastly, grey walls rose all around us as though the earth has opened his hands to give us refuge. Now even he is tired of holding on to heaven’s tears; it’s walls collapsing everyday, everywhere, burying the little hope remaining in men. We “let the dead bury their own dead”. Flying rats make holes in men standing, while teeth sharper than bullets consume the men in trenches. Rotten bodies lay all around us and the smell is sickening.
The war of exhaustion, this game of waiting, suffering, deteriorating and dying is our #life. Most of the soldiers here are children, innocent, but a lie is their cardinal sin. Waiting in this hell until their judgment comes, they have aged beyond recognition. No joy in their heart; cold, senseless eyes is a common sight here. Exhausted, we lay in the trenches, waiting for them to order our slaughter.
We fight, not in one front; everything that we do is a battle. The sun, hidden under the thick layer of fog and smoke shines and its rays pierce through eyes like knives sent from another world to kill the sight. Bones shaking with fatigue, we rest under the blanket of night; we close our eyes, only to bring darkness to the world which is darker than night. The moister soak through bones and it moves like death crawling under the skin; the wind gives way to nothing but the cold, stinging rain.
I cry every night. I hear men shout, but you can hear nothing; their silence screams the pain of the wounds within. Can one be well in this suffering? Can one be calm in this restlessness? I can’t tell you of this antichrist my friend, as one can never understand war, the real war.
New soldiers arrived to our trench few days ago, young men, all of them. Full of #life, zealous, unaware of what lies ahead. One of them came to me, he was the youngest; he was nervous, wanted to know more. I told him whatever I knew, whatever I had learnt in this land. “There must be some hope”, he told me, “Abandon hope all ye who enter” I answered.
The orders came that we should leave our trench. Every day we move, every night we advance while suffocating in the thick mixture of mud and corpses. Even the nature is infected by this war, by this hate; the bushes have turned into barbed wire. Trees like grave stones, feeding on the souls of thousands, rose to the sky to bar all cheerful light from the eyes of hopeless men. The sludge, crunch of skulls breaking under my feet shattered the deafening silence of the woods. Words are broken, tears feeble to tell of this suffering.
The thick fog played mind games with us, shadows appear as demons out of the darkness and men, few yards ahead, disappeared into the unknown. We walked into our destiny, our unknown future that faded as the road faded into the mist.
Everything, everyone even the time has stopped, when we heard other voices in the distance, we were not alone. Unsure, murmuring voices of soldiers was deafening; no one knew of the horror that lay ahead. The voices broke and a sense of intense ecstasy filled our bodies, when a bright light star shot into the sky. Everything was clear; an enemy trench was few yards ahead of us.
Everyone started moving aimlessly in every direction, looking for a place to take refuge. The deadly duet of bullets and mortar shells hitting the ground sang the perfect hymn for the ballet of death, souls flew to heaven. The clear sky, glittering stars, it was as though the heavens opened their gates to accept the souls of many killed by the knife of the night.
And there he was, limbless, his face reflecting the silvery moonlight as the force of #life drained from his body. The thorns grew viciously on his body, piercing the spikes deeper and deeper into his flesh as he struggled against the thorn’s will. Barbed wire was HIS crown of glory. Only the sky cried for his loss, soaking the handful left with tears. “Eli, Eli lama sabachthani?”
I was a priest of hope; he came to me and asked for hope I could not give to him. Only I was to blame for his death, for his hopeless eyes.
Many lost their #life that day; I lost the will to live. We retreated to the black wood, there I saw myself, standing on the bare shore of my soul, nothing to hide, no darkness, no distractions, away from the sinful eyes, I was standing, the hand of God, the angel of death in my hand. I decide! Not him, this is my moment, my judgment is now in my hand, and I decide GUILTY. Into your hands I commit my soul…
