The Soldier And The Soprano

By Prachi Singh

I write not for the precious pennies,

Few and far in between as they may be,

But in hope for the happy endings,

Within reach, yet so far.

Stories of heroines longing for heroes,

Martyred, brave tragedies of war.

But I speak of love, great and eternal.

Not a regular bard,

Yet a tale of soldier, never misses the heart.

As pompous and arrogant, as they come,

Picking up hankies of fair maidens, subtle they are not.

Such a young fellow, attired in uniform,

Swaggered in a pub, and stopped nearly dead.

Oh, he would survive all right, but his heart never recovered.

The beauty went along with the sweet voice.

A song, rendition of war in its glorious form.

Painted lips with a quirky mole on side,

Poetic justice, to a painful goodbye, with promises to return.

Eyes, witholding storming seas within, missed nothing.

The eager soldier and the lovelorn soprano.

In a world of their own, born of trying times

Dances and laughter do come easy

When the days are numbered.

Kisses, ardent and frantic, for shy takes time

Of which they had just some.

They lived, in only each other's arms.

But the war was here to stay on,

Call for duty, of the nation, strong.

He vowed to return, as all ignorant ones do.

The star in his sky, he claimed, she was.

With tear in her eyes, a tremulous smile

She bade him to war.

Pleading and bargaining to the lord, on the inside

To bring her lover, unharmed, to her side.

Oh what fools, war makes of us.

Our brave soldier did fight many battles.

On and off the fields, the young fellow never returned.

The worn out man, with a chip on his shoulder, did.

Not the boy, our heroine wrote to.

They met again, but a joyous reunion it was not.

There was nothing of the soldier, she prayed for,

Neither of the passionate lover, she yearned for.

The war weary soldier and the heart broken soprano.

The years of horror, an unattainable gulf between them.

Peace, they dreamed of as naive young birds,

Remained shattered at their grown up feet.

Her heart ached for the cynical man

Helpless and lost, he was no better.

They were to build a home together,

But the jagged ends of broken dreams hurt a little too much.

Haunted by nightmares, happiness seemed long lost.

Sleepless and hurting.

Such love to give, yet no way to proceed.

But I did promise a happy ending,

And when his star sang him a lullaby to sleep,

The melody soothed, what words never could.

Tears flowing through his eyes, he opened his arms,

A welcome home, for the lovers, a flickering hope.

They cried for what they had lost, what it had cost.

A wound, festering for long, slowly scabbed.

Weaving a cocoon, around, with broken threads,

Our hero and heroine united in lover's embrace.

Or they sailed for their happily ever after, whichever you prefer.

The healing soldier and the compassionate soprano.

And though tragedy remains the way of this war infected world.

A happy ending is a remedy for hopeless souls, of all.

By Prachi Singh