Frontline by Gopal Lahiri

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The thick-walled trench’s cave-darkness

lies beyond wars of every kind.

Rest here, out of the blaze—the thick air’s

stirred by the thousand breaths

This is the truth, not the stretched

non-immortal breaths burn like daylight when

sun pierces abandoned infant hands.

The stinking bodies and half-living are strewn

like matchsticks under the blue sky,

many large and small bones under ash.

Now the scorched skins catch fire

then hot becomes lukewarm, to days of calm

to come, so that the stains remain in the blood.

The sound of siren weaves the next narrative.

@gopallahiri

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