In war,
Fathers bury sons
And sons bury fathers.
Bullets whiz and rip past men
Like flies in a plagued land.
Men run forward to breast death's tape
Like Olympians racing to victory.
The brave become jellies at the sound of -
Guns and grenades;
Bombs and bazookas;
Shells and shrapnel.
I soldiered on,
Rescueing one man
After another,
One more,
After another;
One more,
And the other,
All night.
Under enemy fire.
Hands chafed with ropes,
Cuddled blood.
Legs weary with running,
Crouching and hiding.
Body weak with no atom of strength.
But, the lord is my strength.
My protector in the day of battle.
For in the Ridge of the shadow of death,
I fear no hack.
When men marvel at my bravery,
Tell them, it's the lord's doing,
And it's marvelous in my sight,
For I did all that without
Touching a rifle
Nor a bayonet.
Yet, a soldier I am
And I still soldier on.
Bravery is nothing
But, our beliefs.
Without them,
We are doomed to die
Like cowards,
Many times before our deaths.
To my men
Who saw death
But, ran towards it,
Till they took Hacksaw Ridge.
- by : Ogochukwu Umeadi
is a Writer and a Filmmaker.
Facebook: Ogochukwu Umeadi
Email: ogochukwuumeadi@gmail.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment