Through the warmth of a carefree grass,
Through the chill of a posthumous tomb,
soldier’s dreams like flowers bloom, -
they are hidden from living, alas.
What his death did forever deny
him to know, because he was shy –
gentle touch of a mischievous curl
and the lips of the teasing him girl,
whom he silently loved in his class,
but her death has resolved this impasse,
for she’s gone from the visible space,
and her body was buried deep
far away from his burial place,
when her spirit had fallen asleep
in the heat of a fierce air raid.
Their dreams now surface above
common graves where bodies were laid
in a haste; they stem in the love
that will never attain the realms
of the visible world but exist
in the glow of a morning mist
when its freshness overwhelms
our souls, and we, alive,
cherish things of which Death deprived
other people, whose dreams emerge
and to love, to rejoice they urge
till the day when the final breath
will be taken away by Death.
18 August 2011