A faint knock on the doors of my slumber,
Transitioning resonations down my ear,
Pounding strong on my heart,
Shuttered my eyes wide open with trembling pupils.
Quivering like a paper on ocean shores,
Walking barefoot on the December ground,
Towards the half open rattling window,
Overlooking the market street below.
Voices grew louder as I approached the window,
Grabbing a stick close to my heart, gained courage,
Looked down, aghast, an old man, in a pool of blood,
A bunch of people arguing, some whispering, some confused.
A zillion voices echoed in my mind as I rushed down
"GO back to sleep" they yelled, "Rush down", some others said.
I opened the door and elbowed my way into the crowd
I stooped to get a closer look at the blood stained face.
AS the wind blew the long tresses of hair,
That veiled a blood stained face,
The features bore resemblance, to a frail figure,
Whom I half smiled at, every morning on my way to work
Holding a poster crying "No war",
Beaming and waving to every passer-by
My half smile response motivating him,
While a few others who waved back, made him dance.
Through whispers I heard he had a soldier son,
Who died in a war, and now he had none,
Through a reckless driver, his story was revealed,
The crowd had dispersed, by the wee hours of the morning.
I went back and slept and brushed through the morning paper,
Reflected on the nights happenings, rose to stand for a cause,
Banner in hand I walked down the road,
To see the a crowd with banners crying "No war, We love you Alex!"