“Son! Leave your, last bread, half-eaten
For, another half, lest, you return”
I left, no bit, of, that poison
For the, martyrdom, I yearned, to earn!

It is, no backyard, of boyhood
Where, we once, warred with, wooden guns
In the, vain war’s, wasteland, I understood
Pain’s, truly, dreadful, dimensions!

An estrangement, out there, and one, very deep within
My faith, is shaken, by, which fear
For, whose glory, do I, kiss my coffin
Who’ll, never care, for a, mean martyr!

My heart, and heart(h), are, miles away
Where, a mother, learns, to understand
Wretched rituals, of war, with dismay
Of, Dying, In A, Distant Land!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra