It ain’t so long, since that mean ambush
Nor as riotous now, the moor’s hurt heart
On the chest, of whom, by the quince bush
Lay scores of still men, so strewn apart!
Whose war they fought, at the dearest cost
Whose land they bought, with blood misspent
Whose hate, they sold, for no love lost
Whose martyrs are they, not worth a red cent!
Histories ain’t that kind, to long-gone, petty pawns
For their annals, are earmarked, for those spent statesmen
Who preach after wars, “Let bygones, be bygones!”
And sign ‘peace pacts’, with a pious poison pen!
For them not plaques, nor busts, nor stones
Who left silent sighs, amid, deafening aplombs!
And at last, a patch, nowhere, to rest their bones
Unsung, unknowns, Those Men With No Tombs!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra