I remember in the bygone days of war,
Where his kind were considered the foe,
I never told him, as I never thought so-
That, he, my friend belonged to the 'force'.
I told him my despairs, I told him my woes,
When my father died, young, in the fields of war,
Serving the country, at the hand of the foe-
Maybe his kin, but maybe, not so.
He told me, about the nights, dark, with no glow,
Rations limited, days of gloom, days of the outlaws.
When the siren goes, its time to crawl under the floor,
The culprits, maybe, your kin, maybe not so.
I told him about the lost lives, classes high and low,
Victims, unknown, not akin to this war,
Killed, bombed massacred and burnt raw
May be by his kin, but maybe not so.
He told me, his men, chose not to be captives anymore,
Took their lives, along with the unarmed, in gloried galore.
His parents payed off all their wealth, and more-
To keep the kid sister, hidden from the fields of war.
We both have lost, both have pained, he told me so-
But, I've always felt, this kinship towards yours.
Nothing's forgotten, Nothing will ever be so! !
But things can be Forgiven, Forgiven for future fervor
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem