They always said “do or die”, who does and who dies
Who’s the bearer of truth, what’s worth fighting for
A peasant in the fields, a shepherd on the mountains
The blurred lines of prohibition, open armed other side
The giggling, silent hurdles, the red handed monster
The trembling heart, the firm eyes, the intact soul
No one around to share the wilderness, no one there to pat his back
He gazed into his soul, flashed ‘em back those memories
The cozy, warm house and the lovely dining table
Reaching the threshold of breakdown, pulled himself together
The empty smile of the murderer, the weak body of the slain
The blazing gun of the monster, the poor armor of his bones
And as the soul starts its flight, he reaches his pocket
His last act, his final desire to pull it out
It slips from his hands, lies under the feet of the monster
Blood rushes to it and leaves a stain, on the paper which was blank.
That virgin paper, the account of unnoted thoughts
The unfulfilled desires, those few thoughts, those few lines
Holding the soul back from taking its flight
That hideous grin on the monstrous face
That helpless expression in his painful eyes
The monster stands firm, watching the dance of death
The slow transformation of body into corpse,
Of life into lifeless, the slow fading away of pain
The monster picks up the paper and walks away.
The soulless man lies in the company of vultures
Day’s work done, the monster lies in his bed
A heart full of pride, eyes filled with everything, yet nothing
The virgin paper, the virgin ceiling and his hands
The blood stain, the empty ink-pot and the gazing pen
A mind with a million words, a heart with thousand emotions
A mighty hand but then the ultimate question “who does and who dies”?
Who Does, Who Dies is composed keeping in mind the unnecessary international borders, the helplessness of men caught in the middle of war, criminal killings of civilians in all the disputed lands by people, who are supposed to guard the nation. What should one do when his/her protector is dangerous? What is the cost of freedom? What is the price of a human life? Is it really worth it?
A white collared person sitting in an office hundred miles away decides whether people should live or die. A group of people, blinded by empty and misleading patriotism, carry out the order. War is evil and people propagating it are evil, and, so is the blind patriotism. Hatred is jinxed. Humanity, laughter and love are real. Wars yield nothing but gallons of blood and coffins full of wasted passion and shattered hopes.