Dec New Moon Special
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War Games
Sarah Das Gupta |
Beneath the trees in a pool of green light
Gas-masked, they re-enact forgotten nightmares long ago. Children, voices muffled, sinister, search the enemy in a phoney war. Sitting on grass beaded with stitchwort and blue bells Masks abandoned, Half-eaten sandwiches, lemonade bottles, torn wrappers lie littering the wounded grass. A green breeze gently wafts along the trenches Beyond is mud Deep, bottomless Reaching beyond earth’s bowels, World’s end. Drowned, the ‘Glorious Dead’- skeletons, corpses, single rat-ravaged arm. Gas masks snatched from hooks on clammy trench walls. In lines, the Blind, clutching, groping, gasping, stumble, unasked, uninvited, into Art and History. In bright, summer sunlight, they sit on the manicured lawn. Old ration books clutched in small, chubby hands. Girls in shining rainbow dresses, anointed, sun-washed, blessed, unreal – On a garden table, brown eggs nestle in baskets, Plates of sugar slowly melt, brash bottles of orange juice, glowering cod liver oil. The blonde shopkeeper eyes her wares But now old ration books sanctify a magical Midsummer feast. |