My Son Is A Soldier Poem by I.P. GOPIKRISHNAN PISHARODY

Those sounds lift me up,
haze form the gunpowder and rain,
I, laden those dead bodies.
Cemetery knoll in row by row,
What the years gone?
I watch in silence, those
blood wash by rain itself.

Camelcaravans transport the bodies,
that swathe in my Tricolour Flag;
their last pant, left me pro.

Blur of motion surrounds me,
down in the banyan shade,
in the bank of Yamuna
a soulful call, remind them
How alone?

Shovel by shovel,
they begin their slog.
That the death was dancing,
with a great laugh

My eye drops still plunge,
where he is there for me.