This piece of writing happened to come to mind when I was reading about the prisoners of war and how they suffer well after the war is over and forgotten. To be more precise the fact when Sarabjit Sings mercy petition was being played around with (it still is) and the media had no other issue to focus on. The thoughts in my mind were what if the man is innocent (I gave it an unbiased approach) would it not be a sheer waste of life. The loss of a man who might have had amazing calibre.
This piece of writing is a tribute of thoughts to those who still lie behind enemy lines forgotten by the majority but revered and remembered by those who know the price of freedom.
Silence cuts him like a knife,
Pity follows like dusk after a moonless night,
Segregated, confiscated an unwanted end to a spotless life.
Days mark the hours on his prison walls,
Age clings on like rust.
Deep inside the dungeon he lies like a dagger in the dust.