The War

Her eyes blinked- Sending a tear, Down her cheek; Her heart trampled- Like a wild animal, Held onto a leash; The spring had come, And with it came- The sweet-smelling lavenders, That hung low, Seeing her sorrow-laden face. 'Don`t worry dear, I`ll be back for you, In a week`s time', Thus he had said to her, On a cold rainy night, When the wind lashed- Against the unhooked windows, Making them dance, On their hinges. But the war went on, And weeks turned into months, And months into years, Leaving not a minute; For them in its clock. The phone rang that morning; She hurried down the stairs, Slipping a step or two, Hoping it to be- Her dear partner. She had been crying, Ever since she picked up- That mysterious call, Which had made her, Crack down on the floor; For a sad call, I`m sure it was. Of course, he had come! But why did his arrival, Leave her lamenting? There she sits- On the cold floor- Just in the middle- Of the carpet-spreaded hall, And beside her, Lie her husband, Soulless and cold, In a well-built coffin. And the war went on, Seeing all this, And creating- Many soulless cold bodies, And leaving all those- Dear ones lamenting.