When the smoke is ceased and the war horn choked still
Through the rill of blood and shattered causes I will
Search for the cottage, once lovely under the swelling moon until,
The gleaming steel swords, shrouded in darkness, my home did kill.
Years have lapsed, awards showered; Verses wrought
Off the miserable hues of the battle fought
Yet, the modest warmth of my old hut I’ve found not
Ruined by war with the dreams of simple boys and orphans with nought.
Now, under the silent sky, the burrs and weeds, counting, I lay,
Lashed out in tallys like the scars and corpses of my days.
What is war and what is red victory, I says,
That leaves its survivors bereft with blue breath in the sorrows of yesterdays.
© 2018 Sahana Narendran