Reading Time: 3 minutesYoung Indian Australians pay tribute to fallen soldiers through poetry
A golden beach spreads, shimmering in the sunset,
Rising towers still left unscathed,
A blissful abode of floating memories,
Of a father’s smile, a mother’s warmth,
Shining like pearls through the pale blue sea.
The vessel rocks through swirling waves,
And thoughts from recent days flood through his mind,
Of mud-drenched fields plagued with the bodies,
And souls of men torn to shreds,
Where one man’s life is another man’s death.
He watches and waits with helpless agony,
As deafening shells rain down upon them.
A ceaseless fire smothers his senses,
As the ghosts of men rise from their trenches,
And fond memories fade into darkness.
The vessel slows to meet the face,
Of a bustling city drawing ever so close.
Smoke still wafts from the chimneys,
Children still run and play together,
In an illusory isle of laughter and joy.
The vessel breaks to a gradual halt.
Cheering crowds besiege the boat.
As a marked footstep meets cold ground,
Loud cries of victory rend the still air,
Making his blood boil like the desert sand.
Then amidst the crowd he sees a face,
With tears of joy pouring down her cheeks.
She sees him amidst a million faces,
He runs and hugs her in warm embrace,
But his heart hung heavy in the setting sun.
POPPIES AND CROSSES
I looked at the poppies and crosses
I remembered my mates
And the wormhole of madness
I remembered the trenches
Small bunkers full of brave dead souls
I remember fleeing from the tornado of bullets
Heading towards us
All of us
I remember the bully beef
Hard and chewy
Our only food
I remember my mates, ill with disease
Dying in corners of trenches
I remember the long line of people willing to go to war
The memories are not faint
But like instant flashbacks that keep haunting my head
Now here I stand, over my mates remembering them
I remain silent
I hear bullets and cannons firing
The sound is repeated over and over
I hear grenades making loud booms and groans from soldiers dying
The sound is like thunder booming
I hear the loud crunching of heavy boots upon the rocky ledges
I hear the leader’s voice booming orders to soldiers
I hear the leader call my battalion up in the frontline
I look once again at the poppies and crosses
And remain silent
I feel the bullet hit my shin
I feel the blood trickling down
I feel the pain
I feel the pain of all the soldiers
Wounded, injured and dead
I was once one of them
Amongst the battle
I feel the courage
That I once felt
Going to war
I feel the pride I once felt
When I was on a ship
Sailing to Gallipoli
I look at the poppies and crosses
I feel all those things
I remain silent – Lest We Forget