//The burning toast with the
black coffee and the morning
which is turning into smoke with
the news of war that came
out in paper today.
The racing heart under the
thin fragile skin of yours and the
thought of losing France
you see in the bottomless sea of my eyes.
The tears which are on the brim
but somehow withdraw from
the waterline when you feel my
eyes looking through the
thick curtains of your soul.
The sulk which stayed at the
bottom of your throat when you
felt the blood rushing in my veins
while I stood behind you holding your hands.
The sun whose light was
soon going to be eclipsed in the cries
of many but the thump in my chest
will get you through.
//I will write poems on your
soul with the soot from the walls
of our house which turned
black during the war.
So, that you don't forget the
smiles we shared while the
world was being torn apart
& the love we had when the
roof of our house was trembling from
the bombs thrown miles away.
It's a testimony of our
world in place while the world
beyond the walls of our house was
crumbling down to nothing.
It's a wrinkle in a time
which you will remember for
the pastries we savored and cookies
we baked to keep our house
from smelling like burning metal and flesh.
Yes, I had to write war on our souls to keep our
memory breathing for the lives we were yet to live.
//Maybe war meant to bring justice
to France or Germany,
But what's a france without
it's french people and nazi Germany
without the Nazi's.
Maybe war meant to bring calm
to the chaos prevailing passively in the entire world
But what about the upheaval
in the lives of people who were
blood and bone of this world.
They didn't ask for war.
We didn't ask for war.
I didn't ask for war.
So, who is dragging the common man to the battlegrounds?
What is causing me to learn combat fit the war
I certainly didn't ask for it?
Then why my wife dreads that I won't
be a beating heart and a stream of warm blood any moment?
How my home doesn't sound like Maurice Chevalier anymore?
War is not justice,
Neither it's calm,
Nor it's harmony.
It's the opposite of it.
//I planned to give her letters I wrote
for her sitting at the back
of the class with her face looking
straight to the bottom of pool of my eyes.
I thought of telling her of all the
times I have fallen in love with her
will to ditch learning baking and read books
written by the best of the authors in our University's old French library.
I contemplated the years she has been around and,
as far back as I can go,
It was all about her.
I checked in with my soul first
because I believe my heart was already hers and,
turns out even that wasn't just mine anymore.
In fact, it never was.
But, that was before the news of war
broke out and I felt her unspoken
angst seeping in my mind through
the now filmsy barrier of her body.
It could have been end to the verses
I wrote for her in my letters
but it was the beginning of a story of
the love which thrived in the war,
Even if neither of us made it out alive.
//War changes people for centuries to come,
It chases them,
Hunts them down even after its over.
Even after they have escaped the battlefield.
Because their soul has learnt it.
It has held onto the repercussions
of the war it has seen up close.
clinges to the edges of bodies
they will inherit until they
go on a war themselves
with the souvenirs of wargrounds they have been to.
World war 2 (1939-1945)
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