From my womb, to your cradle, to their, cherished tomb
Pilgrim of, my love, why you, lust for gore
How you found, in war, manly aplomb
And in death, honor’s inescapable, metaphor!

War is a, bloody business, of men
So-called statesmen, invent, in their minds
You’re a petty pawn, doomed, by their poison-pen
Who sell you, for their glory, history reminds!

Who chase, Satan’s shadows, in war’s, wasteland
With a, heartful of hate, and a, fistful of fear
To build, their tombs, with blood, and sand
Why they forget, those mothers, their crosses, who bear!

I want my boy back, not a dead man, shrouded in, jingoism’s flag
Silenced not, by gun, but shenanigan
Rush back, in my arms, from the, war’s gulag
Lest You, Be A Martyr, O My Son!

© 2021 Vikas Chandra