Solace of Time

Solace of Time

It’s hard to imagine now, as sufferings left to smother,
a story of a country at war with itself,
when people once fought against one another.
Their faces unveil misery, losing their sense of self,
lay bare the long shadows of trauma,
an extensive battle that is now put on the shelf.
Victims of war trigger startled reflexes, hallucination,
depression, flashbacks, nightmares, suicidal ideation,
in response to frustration, complaints awaiting aggression.
One’s soul freezes to remember the incident,
emotional stamina taxed, myriad war-generated stressors
invigorate the agitation of society so decadent.
Dotting the diaries of insomnia, nervousness,
precursors of completely unhinged, broken-down emotional state,
underpinnings that surface with a vengeance so murderous.
Normal life—tainted peace—resumes after the war,
mental capacities taut, pushed to the brink,
thoughts and beliefs seem to leave an indelible scar.
As grief remains live of dark deaths, bombarded houses,
scarcity and economic hardships lead to additional struggles,
each of fear, deprivation, starvation, loss steadily rises.
Dislocation, uncertainty, threats of violence
weigh down heavily on those living in war zones,
an eerie feeling amidst the trail of shattering silence.
Distress prevails as well as long-term psychological crisis,
refugees unsettled by war move places,
as politicians and depraved minds pretend on mere analysis.
Wounded Telephus, son of Heracles and Auge,
hurt while fighting the Greek invasion of Mysia,
visits his assailant, agony showing through the rouge.
Achilles scrapes the blue–green verdigris
from his spear onto the inflamed laceration,
which disappears and cures with no honor to tarnish.
Like the metals undraped of the turquoise patina of verdigris,
accumulated over time when in contact with oxygen,
anguishes and torments will find a way to vanish.
Memories of a devastating war will swell, continuing its raid,
before the coating of discoloration scrubbed off, reviving metallic glory,
the healing effect of time will be felt when the memories begin to fade..

Sreelekha Chatterjeee

Photo: Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

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  1. Powerful poem, Sreelekha. War is terrible.

  2. So true Sreelekha, and in the trenches, silence screams louder than cannons.