I met a man the other day
He was homeless, wore down, and his head full of gray
I asked his story, he responded saying there's no sob here
just a life of brokenness pain and sorrow
He said " Son I've crossed the world n back, killed men for a better tomorrow. But behind all that is where I hid way beneath my flask. My daddy fought in the world war and I in 1967, fought my way to sergeant of platoon Echo Gulf Eleven. I was there the day Kennedy died and yes many of us did indeed cry. War damages us, breaks and tears your soul, it's not till you're back home you realize the real fight is here. Brother's and sisters fighting in the streets, I would rather spend my time here then laying in cozy sheets".
It's been 5 years since that day, since then I gave the man a place to stay, he found his purpose again. Today he inspires change, he speaks to the younger kids stressing the importance of the future. The world is small and crazy one little step and your whole life can be wrecked and one inspired generation left is enough to become the next president.

A veteran of The Armed Forces
Traveled in the air and sailed on the sea
They always answered the call
While in a line of duty
With strength and courage
A veteran always stayed true
Always carrying out their mission
While representing the red, white and blue

Seldom do I hear your three syllables
Ringing along the airwaves
Seldom does anyone fighting
After the war to end all wars
Consider you or think about
A cessation of arms

We even gave you a different name
Armistice, how did you become
So out of favor?

Let the world pause once again
On the eleventh hour
Of the eleventh day
Of the eleventh month
So we may sing, dance and discover
The joys of your three syllables
Ringing along the broadcast’s airwaves

Here, love is the far proxy of look
- She is dying a distance -
Yours travels from brook to sky
To the heaven wanderings of death in my blood,
The black smoke-congested veins possessed
By the baffled realms of battlefield
By the horrors of the mundane
From this old mouth, emptied of kisses.

The sky will never hold more
Than all the paths of soldiers’ unreturning,
Laid out the length of undone goodbyes.  
Their eyes that sleep on the wind,
Palace of last breath,
And the rain that falls, expectant of windows,
And those left within to live without eyes.

Dear Granny,

I saw someone
a week ago,
In the streets
on my way back home..

Her wrinkled skin burnt by the Sun
Her attire frayed and patched with dust
An empty oil can of crumpled tin
A humble sum peeks shyly from within
Her hand stretched, a cup formed from her palms
It shakes too furiously to beg for alms
She speaks a language alien to me
Yet her eyes tell me a universal story
A tale of a debt that was never paid
Kindness was dealt a hand of apathy instead
And the care with which a seedling grows
Was not returned as winter crept close
Because fall came and went, and the old leaves are spent
Shed across the city streets, with none to speak for the dead

Like the world around me I know not
why I should care
Her face is that of a stranger to me
Yet I keep waking up
on account of these dreams
A similar picture, a similar scene
And at the heart of it
The face is yours,
Granny.

Love,
Soham