The highest Jihad and Crusade, the Angels of Mons, a Cigarette, the Throne and you

During the Great War (World War I), there was a recurring legend of an angelic intervention in the Battle of Mons, France. During this incident, it was reputed that an angelic host descended from the heavens to defend a hard-pressed contingent of British soldiers from the invading Huns.

Fact, fable or propaganda, I was thinking about it when I wrote the story below about a cigarette, an angel, and the Throne. They are all metaphors and the battlefield that I found myself in is the war-torn landscape of my heart. But unlike the Angels of Mons, I can vouch for this story personally as it is played out again and again, every blessed day. Does it play in your heart too? If yes, then with me, you and the cat named Moses, we are all combatants in the highest jihad and crusade of them all... the battle of our heart and conscience. As for the terrorists of whatever hue and colour... they are all already lost. Lost to themselves, lost to Love and Compassion, lost to God and His Mercy.

19. Crater Angel (Oh Wicked me II)
My eyes hurt and water, Stung by the smoke,
As I lie huddled in the bomb crater
With my angel.

I sighed and looked all around, A withered landscape,
All my towers in ruinous rubble, All my edifice toppled,
The remains of a war bitterly contested.

“So much smoke”, I complained.

He replied, “That isn’t helping much, you know”,

eyeing with incredulity the cigarette in my mouth,

“Camouflage. What better among these smoky ruins?”.

The angel considered my reply. Then he smiled and said.

“Mortal humour. What better among these smoky ruins.”

I laughed. Then feeling a little restless, I again raised my head above the crater’s edge.

“Are you sure the Throne is out there somewhere?”

The angel nodded his head. “Yes. It’s time to look for it.”

“And the Throne is still there? Though my world is destroyed?”

My worried eyes asked silently as I gazed upon the terrible desolation.

“Yes, dear boy. It is still there. The Throne stands not by your will.” He answered.

“By whose will then?”. I was tired. I was not thinking anymore.
My joints are numb, aching after being prone for so long.

“Ah. We will find out when we stand before the Throne, shan’t we?”

I nodded. The air is clearing a little. Breathing is easier.

Together we started walking, my angel and me.

“Will you get your wings fixed there?” I asked,

ruefully looking back at his ruined appendage, once glimmering with ruby red feathers.

“Hahaha. Yes, my friend. That and other things we will get fixed”.

He replied, laughing as he placed an arm around my shoulders.

I did not speak much more after that, but hummed an old soldier’s ditty,

“… In my heart is a throne, standing empty,
Waiting for no one but thee...
Waiting for no one but thee…”