The Soil Of Sin From the Soul Of War

vikas chandra

“Amidst the fertile, farm of, faith
In the, fields of fear, life and death, tryst
I wade, thru dead, like life’s, lost wraith
In war, every man, is a, mortal alchemist!”

“From France, I send you, remembrance
For no gifts, are there, in Normandy
Where life, kisses death, in nonchalance”
Wrote to mother, one son, lost in, fiery frenzy!”

“Unlike, bliss of dust, baptized by rain, in our, humble home
Here I smell, a different petrichor, when on soil, spills gore
As if, faith and fear, dissolve in loam … ;
… scream, Shalom, Shalom, Shalom … !!!
Ain’t faith, and fear, shades of, same syndrome…
… age after age, faith begets, fear’s chromosome … !!!
I only hear, each night, death knocking, on my door!”

“I’ll die, yet last, in my, last souvenir:
‘War is, merely, Man’s Madness’, Metaphor’
Sighs, a son’s silence, glory, of a, vain martyr

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