irony

Irony



After all these years

Of running away and hiding behind bushes,

Of fighting with hunger and dying of thirst,

Of moaning and mourning for the lost,

We should have known better.

We ought not have wished…

Wishes were useless

No value, no sense

In our kind of life.



After all these years of

No smiles but tears,

No relief but fear,

You walked along by my side

While our own blood and cells

Fell on the ground like shells -

Torn to crumbles.



That was usual.

This was the unusual.

There was promise, hope and a wish…

And a relief, I guess, if we knew what it was.



After all these years of standing on our toes,

You walked along by my side.

To the camp.

Thinking that the end was coming.

Unbelievably normal. Unusual.





After all these long weary years… Oh!

We walked all these miles,

Passed all these years,

Braved all these bloody battles

Standing beside, behind and face to face with death

Binding ourselves closer and closer

Only to, only to be there

When the self-mass-killer

Blew the camp up.

As un/usual as that.



Irony it is, if you understand,

To reach the oasis and die

Of  thirst.

To reach the camp and die

Of  a bomb.