Those days when you were in the valley,
Fighting the militants
~Such a relative term~
Everyday I prayed to god almighty above,
In any encounter I hoped
He’d lose and die
And you’d win and be safe my love.
Then suddenly a thought struck me,
Would there be someone praying for him too?
Someone who loved him
just as intensely as I love you.
And it hit me that my prayers were,
Wishing all that dreadful grief, that unending pain,
I dreaded so much, on ‘HER’
Some one I had never met and would never see.
I wonder what that makes me?
To be happy you were safe
~ And him dead…
To be happy I hadn’t lost you…
And she a grief struck zombie…
Was I then selfish?
Or just plain cruel.
Was it as simple as,
You were right and he wrong
Who would judge and pass judgment ?
‘You’, ‘me’, ‘he’ or ‘she’
each fighting for their convictions
and convictions aren’t right or wrong,
just a personal statement.
And yet my prayers answered would lead to her pain
What has love made me?
Insensitive? Cruel? Uncivilized?
My love for you runs deep and I accept what its made me.
I’m not a good person…not a bad one either…
Just human I suppose,
Because I hope fervently things change
And I don’t have to choose between
~ You safe and him slain,
~ My happiness and her pain,
This choosing hurts me somewhere,
A place I didn’t even know existed,
But my love for you is such,
That knowing consciously what I’m wishing for,
Of what I’ve been reduced to,
Accepting honestly this degradation,
Without any crutches of lie,
I still wish…
It’s better Her than I.
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