Heavy drops of tears,
Now crawl sidewards,
Towards her ailing ears,
Descending downwards,
As that ailing elderly mother,
Tries her very best to sleep,
Contained the tears she tries to keep,
To prevent those tears from leaking,
Remembering who they were,
Her own children them both,
Sent away to war in a land very far,
Two coffins with no more than a humble note of regret & praise for the two dead soldiers had come back.

The father had fainted after listening to this news,
After few months spent wasted in tears,
Truer could not have been his fears,
He could neither let the pain ease,
Nor could he make the repentance cease,
Of letting both the brothers follow their hearts,
He tried to make any sense if there was in war,
And pondering only over the same he died,
A repentant father he wrongly blamed himself,
But the boys' mother lives on with the memories,
Alone and lonely in her lonesome life,
Her senile smile sits under her now-crooked nose,
As she looks at old family albums through her glasses,
Tears drip down her aging lonely chin onto the happy family photograph.

On Guard.
Perfection?
Scarred.
Breathless.

Ideals.
Worthless.
Forgo­tten meals.
Perfect.