Sruthakirti Writes

In the end, The dead isn't counted, The lived ones are praised, Little do they know the pain,  Of the dead, The litres of blood, That was shed isn't counted, The lost honour of women, Cannot be restored, The dead fought for the leader, But did he fight for the dead? They say the dead watch over us,  Would they be ashamed of us now? Jealous of us? That we won't die unremembered, The war fought in the cold, The war fought in the heat, The war fought for women, The war fought for wealth, All have the same outcome, Death of the innocent. ~SRUTHAKIRTI M

What was it, That made me believe you were mine? Was at the time you held me? Was it the time you kissed me? Was it when you scolded me? I want to know the answer, I want to ask you a question, We may fight like there is no tomorrow, We may love like there is no tomorrow, And I would defenitily say,  who knows if there is a tomorrow? A never ending green meadow, A beautiful little house,  And everything you ever wanted, I want to gift them to you,  My eternal love, I can't part with you,  I break down as the thought enters me, Your voice, Your laughter, echos in my ears, your name rolls on my tongue, Cause I know,  Everytime I call you, You will hear me, So stay beside me, Stay with me, And answer the question, Not like my parents, But as the companion you always were, To me. ~SRUTHAKIRTI.M