Warring for lives, realizing the futility of existence
As my fellow Sarge, tries to gun down the tyrant, the tyrant turns and shoots at his head sideways, dropping his eye sockets empty
In realizing the pain, we realize the vainness of life, it's never the simple arithmetic that works here with pluses and minuses all concocted into assumptions like a complicated algebraic equation. In triumphs and victories everyone comes running, meanwhile fuming in loss yet fighting bravely. For all commandoes are different but they are designed to kill.
Grill and make a barbecue of human meat, the gunfire pounds the thrill, of trying to override the existence of many. For no one can fight with many, the world uncanny provides more than what you chew, to test your limits and foundations. Instincts rule your eyes, retort has to be sharp of body not words, in seconds to act on instinct which cannot get extinct.
For I travel alike in marshy lands, wild tropical jungles, Amazonian rain forests, African greens lushed with Gorilla clans, Boa Pythons screeching with utter filth, they smell me, I am on a mission, cannot be fissioned with fragrance. You can prance and sense the nights about to turn dark and let the Wild dogs bark, Lion roar, and Wolves howl.
Setting the stage for probabilities existential or otherwise, to act wise and not in haste. Everyone’s quiet about the execution. In the dark spaces, I sit and gaze at the sun, for half an hour, I noticed a presence subtly vivacious, and see a mighty Tiger growling at me, about to roar. I stood there with knees in strength and symmetry, all falling in line.
I smelled like the jungle, the leaves oozed my sweat, and the tree bark thrust my upper body to be like me, leaving imprints all over. As my pores ooze the sensation of deranged manliness, the tiger sensed the bonding with nature and left for his daily adventure. All wars that we lose and win do not end in grins, sometimes the process is gruesome and perplexing.
In winning and losing, intestines fell out, as poached in Normandy Shores by the Germans against the Allied Fighters. To quell the beast, travel to the belly and piece out all its fractions and tear it apart, for the lives of some soldiers are anyway deemed to be gone. They fight to kill, build on instincts and feel a placid type of pain.
In Jungles I move in sync with nature, the deep forests filled with rainwater and animals, blood eaters of all kinds. The mosquitoes are against you for a long duration of time. With the perpetual state of intolerance, always on the verge of the breaking point, you are accustomed to existing in minds, still strong and prospective gaze, never haze.
But the futility of existence drives you to the shores and live alike even after taking a deep dive, for all the body is visually accessible, pain, cries, and teary eyes all happened in a matter of seconds, it gets damaged, banged and pitted to result in the consequences of breeding hatred among people in other domains and demographics.
In the silence of suffering, the world coalesces into a strange sense of suffering hypnotic sentiment, and yet it is trying hard to leave it, but it does not do the needful to get away, for that means stopping violence and killings altogether.
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