Victor with no laurels…by Osalam Wosu 

I am retired to a mutely life 

Having been rendered bereft of honour 

When, in selfless service to homeland 

I offered my life 

My all

An untainted oblation 

I receive no garland of roses, no kisses 

Or any other form of ovation
The battlefield, a pool of my blood 

Tears… Sweat

Shed in honest patriotism 

And then I stand by

Unannounced, unpraised

As “superiors” lacking battle wounds 

With uniforms still immaculate and uncreased

Receive praises for my wounds

To my left,  my brother is missing an arm

The brother to my right may never walk again 

But the commanders

So called “Generals”

Are beautified with wreath upon wreath 

Strolling by with Davidian  pomp

But lacking Davidian strength 
This system of ours is being bombarded 

With a plethora of moral depravation 


So I conjure up accolades for me from whatever 

 I look at my scar and smile

My trophy 

From hours, days in war

Shot once, twice, thrice

Barely missing number four

Images of blood spewing forth had strangled me sending ripples 

Down to my core
When we emerge from the  Sheol that is battle 


We celebrated life, the chance to feel our loved ones on our skin again 

But you,  the “Generals”

Anticipate with all fervor 

The coming of the gold, silver…. Loot!!

To adorn the chest as medal

To adorn the pocket as coin 

To adorn the concubine as jewelry
And if we do not emerge 

They squeeze out a beggar’s mite 

Then with an ostentatious stroll

Cameras flashing!! Click!  Click! 

Decorated in blood gold 

For the world over to see their “generosity”

They lean into our widows and say

“he was a great man”


I never knew greatness had no rewards 

If I did, I never would have opted to be 

A victor, with no laurels 
    © 2017 2edged pen