Due to the hustling and bustling of the school year, I try my best to find small ways to practice the art of focusing my attention. One really interesting way that I have been able to explore this skill is through poetry. I have always been a fan of unconventional ways of storytelling, poetry forces a writer to become the best communicator in the entire world for just a moment of time. So little words, much to say and if you do not sit down and do it as fast as you can, you lose all trail of thought. Not only has poetry become one of the best ways to hone in on my skills as a practitioner of focus but also has become a mode to express myself.
For the past few weeks, I committed and persevered in reading war poetry, why? Because in such a few words, someone can express one of the greatest pains imaginable. Despite being such a grim and dark topic, war poetry offers a reader an alternative viewpoint on horrific events, from those who believe they are saving their country, they turn something so twisted and upsetting into something beautiful. War Poetry draws attention to the learning outcome ethics of choice and action. The ethical dilemma surrounding war has been a passionately debated topic and is something I wanted to contribute my two cents towards.
Lately, I have been looking more into the war poets of World War One, most notably, Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon. Focusing on World War one demonstrated the learning objective of global engagement, I was reaching out and learning about the histories of the world and their impact on civilization today. They both started out with patriotic views on the war and due to their losses and experiences, they chose peace over war. In the end, they expressed the not so obvious dangers of war and ruthless propaganda by the government toward the youth. Below is a poem I wrote inspired by war poetry on the side of burned soldiers.
Instructions for War
Reminisce about your beloved,
As your bones grow weak,
And your skin collects deep wounds,
Filled with anguish and lost will
When you are high on the slow agony,
Encircled by the gore of your brothers
Find solace in God,
As you fight against the drowning muck,
Dodging the raging, incandescent bullets,
Fastened behind the grubby trench,
Hunched like a helpless old crone,
Confide in the sham of glory they promised,
As the devil’s water consumes your empty lungs,
Muted, you sink in the spit filled sludge,
Covering the shiny silver badge delivered in your chest,
Silently awaiting the help that never was,
And to my friends behind the windows witnessing,
Bear the weight of the hundreds of young soldiers,
You sent through hellish blood-filled rains,
Promising homage to naive untainted souls,
Now contaminated and lost in the tussle.
Rika Goonetilleke