kashmir...eighty six...

He had all the hurry of the world
'This freezing cold...
My father must be waiting for me
Under his favourite chinar tree...
For his usual afternoon tea...'
Thinking this he ran
Hard as his breath could possibly
him take...
He ran by the snow covered lake...
The samovar in his hand swung
Wildly as he ran...

'Hey you! Halt!'
Heard he a gruff voice...a jolt...
He stopped...knowing he was caught...
'For convoy duty you're sought!'
The olive green dress code
With a gun...automatically which bullets could load...
Told him everything straight...
'I would be late...
For my father who is on wait...
For his afternoon tea...
I got samovar...see?'
The boy fumbled out...
But the automatic rifle totter had doubts...
'You're an informer...
I know...
Now before me your head keep low!'
The olive dress code green
Showing his broken teeth grinned...
'I need to go...please...
Don't put me here...unnecessary...
I need to hurry...'
The olive green thought and looked far
'Okay!Leave me this warm samovar...'
'How could I possibly that do?
please leave me...' mumbled he looking down at his frozen shoes...
'No! I need warm tea...
otherwise you're not doing your duty...'
The man looked stern...cruel...
The lad knew this verbal duel...
Could put him into trouble...
He didn't know the way out of the puzzle...

He stood...still...firm...unyielding...
The olive green...his rifle butt upon him suddenly did bring...
Hard...wooden hit he got...
Upon his head unsought...
He fell...
The samovar on white color pale...
Upturned hot smoking liquid...
The tea in snow mixed...

A few yards away...
Where the chinar tree in wind did sway...
His old father was still on wait...
For a cup of warm tea on afternoon late...
He did wait...
Not really knowing why the shadow of his son
Couldn't be seen still at the turn
Of that road kissed golden by yellow sun...

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