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).
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