The marcher

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With utter despondence the warrior falls by the wayside, exhausted by war, exhausted by peace. It has come to an end and he knows it, the many journeys, the many calls, the longing, the hunger and the haunts by his long defiled wife. Time has been an unkind friend, denying him the taste of death, filling his heart with a longing for nothingness, a hunger and a wailing that will never be satisfied, a thirst that will drain his soul.
‘War has no victors’ has been his sigh for so long, even when voice fled from his throat, mercy from his heart, and fear and ire took the place of blood in his veins. He has seen it all. He has seen his friends fall, he has seen his enemies collapse. He had taken them all with a brave eye, with a brave heart, but nightmares wait till he closes his eyes, and they consume him with relentless torture. He thought he was hard, but war made him realized just how brittle he was, just how fragile his ego was. He had a huge sword, but his dreams, his nightmares were like tiny bees. He had an arrow, but his enemies lived far into the cloud, greeting him with stinging hail, sending him sharp whirlwinds, dragging from him every ounce of breath then throwing him back to the ground, praying for death, and it laughed at him, its voice laden with mockery.
Alas, for him, hope is but a brittle flower that strives for water in the huge desert of life. For some it grows, but for all, it wilts. It is nothing but the last drop that meets the vast sands of the desert, a sea that is rid of water and full of salt. It is nothing but a mirage to be chased by the fools and the clever alike. If time was a kind friend, maybe it would have made him old, but no, it answers to itself, so let he killers kill, and the weak be killed, for in one way or the other, it is a means to an end. Warrior or coward, they shall taste of death when, and only when their sentence has been served. So keep on marching, the man we barely know. Carry thy gun, carry thy sword. March till the soles of your feet turn raw. March on, till thy sentence has been served.

J.P. Simiyu©

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