From A Battlefield Poem by Mariam Taufeeq

The wind howls to lament the sorrows
That people are too weak to endure.
The rain washes away all the heartache and the stains
Of yesterday.
But loss burns deeper than wounds,
Wounds that shall live tomorrow,
Wounds that shall never heal.

The battle had died the previous morning,
And one other brave soul, all draped in red.
The battle is over, but another war has begun;
Somewhere, a dreaded telegram has been read.
Somewhere sadness has murdered the harmony of nights;
Grief-stricken - the world is a 'globe' and man is a kite,
That has fallen to the ground in despair.

The funeral is simple, many tears are shed
In the midst of the mourning for a man who is dead;
He was somebody's son, somebody's pride,
He was some country's soldier who was meant to have died.
He was somebody's husband, somebody's father-to-be,
Somebody's friend, somebody's glee,
But he is none of those anymore.
He is somebody's heartache, somebody's dear,
His loss had been a constant fear.
He is somebody's anguish, someone's mottled soul,
Somebody's past, someone's 'before.'