“Have You News Of My Boy…”, beseeched Kipling
“…Who touched, French soil, on his 18th birthday
To the scourge, of fall, have I lost, my spring
In the ‘Battle Of Loos’, my child’s, first blood-play!”

“A jingoist, consigned him, to World War’s bloodbath
To the glory, of a kingdom, which reigns, ‘lesser souls’
Now a father, searches son, in his manhood’s aftermath
Have I lost you, my John, paying patriotic tolls!”

Some bards, brandish too, the harshest hearts
Is elegance, for them, just a façade
World needs Mozarts, No Bonapartes
Just an, honest truth, not a rodomontade!

Although too late, penance, did sink in
He embraced, pain’s psalm, o’er war’s paean
When he found, a throbbing soul, in his heart’s within
Amen! Lasting legacy, of Kipling’s Lost Son!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra