He had a tear in his burning red eye,
But, he promised to himself, he would not cry,
He walked away from the field of blood,
His wounds were all filled with mud.
Once more he fell and staggered on the ground,
But, he was determined to keep moving on,
The bullets having hit his chest, arm and knee,
The war he fought was sure to create history.
As he moved on, his past came back to him,
Lighting up that moment which was otherwise grim.
Now, far away he could see his camp,
Just then, he began to get cramps.
Still determined, he walked on and on,
With the support of his rifle to move along.
He saw his wife running towards him,
The most beautiful lady, fair and slim.
He knew that this was an illusion,
'Mirage', he thought, 'God's wonderful creation.'
Now, his body could not take it any more,
And he started to feel it turning sore.
Feeling dizzy, to the ground he fell,
Expecting his eyes to open in hell,
Defying death was his game,
This time, though, he had lost the same.
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