By Pooja Parameswaran
He stood atop the hillock,
A face pale and worn,
A body exhausted yet triumphant.
His small black beady eyes swept over his territory-
The land he had fought so hard for.
The setting sun threw it’s feeble arms over the battlefield,
Mutilated and torn by that hard won war,
Drenched with the blood of man and beast alike.
There was silence all around.
Yet with every beat of his heart
He could hear the last pitiful cry of pain,
The roar of the inferno
And the echoing rattle of the guns.
The land of bubbling brooks and green grass was no more.
Where deer roamed free
Beneath the shady boughs of majestic trees.
All done away in a trice
In that moment of greed.
He stood there
The powerful one.
God’s greatest creation.
In that moment of victory,
Defeat stared back at him.
His greatest achievement
Was his greatest loss.
His eyes glistened with tears,
But repentance had come too late