His eyes remained open,
With a ceaseless gleam;
Some hopes, Some desires,
Some unfinished dreams.
The agonized face,
Could say a thousand words;
He was dead for hours,
In a clotted pool of blood.
His pocket had a picture,
Of his wife and little son;
He thought he would see them,
Once the war was done.
He was one of the many dead,
Their stories are never told;
For their families and children,
It is the end of their world.
We live our life in selfish ways,
But have we ever thought;
What price the soldiers pay,
For the life that we have got?
