Top 5 poem for people who love dark academia (France 1940-45; world war II)


//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.

The loss,

The fear,

The damage

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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