A poem submitted by one of our readers dedicated to the fatalities and survivors of WWII:

Here comes the regiment’s cry,

“Run to the battlefield, despite the weather’s dry”

Stick to the orders like a gum,

“Start moving soldiers, on the beats of drum!”

Cage the fear and escape the trench out,

Major, lieutenant, captain, scout!

No excuse, no decline,

Hand grenade pins in every line.

Booby tracks and traps to unfold,

Ride your fates, written out of gold.

Just crawl down when you get to fall,

Strafe you can, but no escape to the brawl.

Bleeding wounds, bodies bruised and faces grieved,

Dead souls adding to the score of widows and bereaved.

There they live in the photograph,

“Got registered for death”, they sent to life, a telegraph.

Kiss their medals, widows and mothers bereaved,

Compensation worthless, neither sons, nor husbands, nor the tears are retrieved…

-By Farrukh Zafar.
Pakistan