“Ain’t the closet yet lost, of my prized playthings?
How many of my mates, made it, to today?
Whose war is this, lingering lullabies which sings?
Why life’s a sweet poison, and tomorrow’s, not another day!

If it began, to never end, for the faith of that God
Whose august impotence, is bread of our souls
Long gone are the days, when unwary hearts awed
Households fade away, into spent charcoals

Why petrified are alleyways, o’er which we played
Like veins of a carcass, shoving nothing, but fear
What a fiend is faith, in war’s masquerade
Why God a dead peg, in Satan’s solitaire!

Do you know what it means, to die unquenched?
In the throes of boyhood, lay a manhood dead!
Looms on the soul of mankind, faith’s dead flag entrenched
Till crusaders of fear, paint my widowed land red
Alas! Would the same lie ahead! What The Dead Lad Said?”

© 2016 Vikas Chandra