Teri tasveer roz banakar mita deta hu mai
Kash jaise tasveer mitata hu, waise hi teri yaad ko bhi Mita deta mai

-

I still remember
Yashoda Maa
At the yoga institute
Telling us
To hug ourselves
And say I love myself

-

Blessed was that holy fire
That from Her worship
Did light you up all over
Oh the pain that you went through
The light that was your life
The evening star that you are for me
That guided lost sailors like us
May Heaven light up with your radiance
And nothing unpleasant touch you there
May I be bestowed with your image
And agleam my life in your light.
— % &

-

Poppies are red
the sky bright blue
white graves mark the dead
in the green fields of France we remember you

-

Cross Of Wood

Above my cross of wood
soldiers have stood
searching for friends
who have met their ends.

But little closure can I give
to those that live,
for my name has been lost
one of many to pay the ultimate cost.

Of my body of blood and bone
little was left after that shell had blown,
missing presumed dead
was the telegram my family read.

-

Known Unto God

A simple stone standing in the sod,
“A Soldier of the Second War Known Unto God.”
Marks many a man's grave the worldwide,
where six feet under they all peacefully abide.

Who was the man who lies below?
Fallen whilst fighting the foe,
buried where his blood can't visit
in his private pine billet.

His name is carved into a wall
at a cemetery to be seen by all
along side the many others,
but his bones stay surrounded by blood brothers.

-

The Glorious Dead

Row upon row soldiers sleep
not in beds but six foot deep
coffins for cots buried beneath our feet
or some shrouded in a sheet.

Their graves are marked by simple stone
in death they lie but not alone,
the Commonwealth commemorates those slain
meaning their memories won't wane.

Engraved on a weathered wall
are names to remind us all
that M.I.A. many men still abide,
the 'unknown' entombed worldwide.

Atop the central cenotaph
is etched an epic epitaph
honouring in bold “The Glorious Dead”,
in remembrance of their blood shed.

For in foreign fields they rest
all at ease in lines abreast
never again to see their native coast
fallen in for their last post.

-