The Memorial in White Marble

The sun it shines upon you;
your marbled face, your still eyes.
You smile upon us; beautiful
calm, young and lovely your face
and you smile a happy smile.

The darkness fell in the empty alley.
You slept in peace, you dreamt
a dream of love and beauty.
A noise it sounded, loud and that light;
a light so bright, oh the fire and smoke.

And they built you, your marbled face;
the dream still in your eyes, and that smile,
the smile so happy, that lasted only a while
before the life like marble doll replaced
the life in you, O unfortunate innocence.

Old Lauril

Perched atop Mariner’s hill,
is a house named Old Lauril.
Creaky doors and rickety stairs,
the walls have bricks popping out in pairs.
The roof is cracked, the fences hacked,
the curtains are torn, ruined and ragged.

When the wind whoosh by, the windows clatter,
the glass comes down to the ground and shatter.
The front door garden is dry and pale,
once fragrant flowers now are frail.
In the moonlight, scary and bright,
Old Lauril is such a fright!

Spirited, ghostly, cursed and haunted,
with names as such the house is taunted.
But old man Billy, toothless and bowed,
loves Old Lauril as he always told.
“It ain’t no haunted,” he would often say,
“Old Lauril was not always that way.”

“Its walls were painted peacefully white.
The front rose garden was such a merry sight.
The light breeze as it swept a by
tickled the curtains and made them fly.
Gleaming, it stood in the morning sun
and the neighbours gloated, one by one.

But the joy and happiness of Old Lauril lay
in the man and his bride who, there, used to stay.
Graceful and lovingly, her every touch,
brightened Old Lauril ever so much!
He, with his affection and manly hard work
made Old Lauril so perfect and perk.

Together they made a home in the house,
until, alas! hard times arouse.
The army was prepared, the borders surrounded,
the war had begun and the alarm sounded.
The man so left, and his bride was alone.
Days crawled by but no one came home.

No letter, no news, nothing at all,
as his bride waited from dawn to nightfall.
Weeks and months; the war had long ended,
so did the hopes, which, on it, depended.
And not long before, his bride did leave,
Old Lauril was deserted- ‘twas hard to believe.”

“And now it stands”, said he, wiping a tear,
“all in ruins and utmost fear.
‘Twas such a fine house”, he said with a frown.
“Can’t believe it’ll be torn down”!
Yes, indeed his words are true,
Old Lauril’s days are finally through.

“Me loved it like the angels above,
in it, lived my lady love.”
As he said so he had a last view
of Old Lauril- “Ah! such houses are few.”
That very day was Old Lauril’s last,
as it stood there, quietly narrating its past.

Passed a month, now Mariner’s hill
looked bald and barren without Old Lauril.
But old man Billy, still toothless and bowed
Loved old Lauril as he always told,
“Perched atop Mariner’s hill
was a house named Old Lauril.”

TEARS DON'T CEASE TO FALL

Why do thy cry, o, ill-fated one?
In your dreams, your thoughts, you must’ve pondered.
Thou love was the country’s warrior son,
So into her arms he has wandered.

Why do thy cry, o mother of the brave?
You gave birth to the suffering soil’s son.
His life, to you, was a dream come true.
But dreams are short, reality has begun.

Why do thy mourn, his lovely neighbours?
Thou tears won’t take him forth
or back to you, for when he was called,
good bye were his last words and he gave no oath.

Why do thy mourn, people of his country?
He was no one to you, no one you have lost.
He was but another soldier, merely a name
of the many who die at your cost.

Why do thy weep, now that they are gone?
Melancholy moods and memories remain.
They came like the sunshine into your lives
and as you look on, left like the rain.

Why do thy weep, for what are these tears?
Are they mementos of that broken heart?
Are they shed for the lives yet to be lost?
Or memoirs of lives being torn apart?

Today you cry for the one who sleeps, while,
yesterday he cried for the one who slept.
And tomorrow you will cry for one
among you, until to cry, none will be left.

Why, why weep now when the next moment
you’ll hear a gunshot, never to cease?
And yet another face, another life, another tear
will be lost in this ridiculous war for peace.

You cry now, as though you were helpless.
But the truth narrates- you are to blame.
You shouted and screamed for more metal;
the soldiers fought while you played your game.

And now you cry and mourn over their loss
as under the soil’s blanket, safely they sleep.
Safe they are, from the wrath to befall you
as the war for peace continues and still, you weep.