From Paris, to Normandy’s shore
A soldier, is pilgrim, to death
May the, World War wait, with its rites, of gore
Until hearts serenade, love’s shibboleth!
Never had, such been, the Valentine’s bliss
As each woman, yearns for, her dying man
Lipstick dissolves, in a, lasting kiss
O’er tears, when sails, death’s caravan!
Be it love, for war, or passion’s creed
Man marries, martyrdom, always
He loves, the glory, of a, death decreed
Than a, life spent counting, Valentine’s days!
Lest the, smitten heart, yearn for, blood-lust
And man becomes, doom’s metaphor
May never, end, love-fests, august
Those Last Adieus, Before The War!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra