Zehni Ayyashi (ज़हनी अय्याशी)

                                       My soul is here on the top of the mountain. It is facing the sun and dancing with the red Indians. For the first time it is walking naked in open, out of the cloth of my body. The eagles are flying at height; the arrows are coming from all directions. I have never experienced this kind of solace. I kicked the sand but it is still, I bowed to pluck the wild flower but I am unable to pluck it. Oh! The horses are in fear like they have seen something which a human eye can't. The wind is blowing through my hair. The cactus smells like rose but no butterflies are here. I can only see bodies and more bodies wounded and torn apart. I didn't want to fight, I guess no one wants but I was sent like every other time. War comes like a blessing for a king and a curse for a soldier. This was not a battle of pride; it even wasn't for Helen of troy. Neither, I was sent to kill the Jews nor to emancipate the sinner. I was the victim of time. I am a