The Stillborn Love

Pain abates. A silent love zigzags through his bullet wound. He is an Indian mercenary fighting for the Allies. He was born with a rusted iron spoon in his mouth. Hunger made him a soldier. He’s fit, fights again for the alien cause. Her eyes trigger his heart. For the first time, he longs for an armistice. He seeks for her in the surgical spirit smelling reverie. A roaring war craft brings him back from that French nurse. A dumdum bullet pierces his chest just before Germany signs! Streets roar in rapture. Flags flutter above the neglected agony. The stillborn love is coffined. A war win is a celebration over a variety wounds. Lest We Forget Poetry Competition (Auckland War Memorial Museum) winning poem. First published in The Literary Hatchet (Pear Tree Press, US).