She braved it all;
dead bodies and arms strewn around,
the burnt flesh, the scattered heart, the smell of blood,
she braved it all
fighting the war.
In the slithering darkness of the night
she stood firm
her long limbs glistening with sweat and scream,
stiff back and upright shoulders
withstanding,
sometimes taking shelter in a trench,
warm like a mother’s lap that she long forgot
warm like a mother’s lap that she long forgot
sometimes hiding underneath the bushes
safe as in the arms of a lover that she never had;
valour hissing in her breath
gallantry flying in her hair.
The war is over.
The male soldiers of her group enter her tent
in celebration;
they come upon her
one by one and all together
in a masculine excitement
screaming victory,
"the war has ended" - they shout in triumph.
She is not part of the war anymore,
the war lives in her now;
And for her the war continues.
