Hiding in the trench in the French sand, Indian Singh fights like a British soldier. It seems it is the ending of the universe. Dark curls of smoke rise up - cradles are shattered, and buildings collapsed. Roar of the war planes gobble all the shrieks by the mothers and their mothers in a jiff. Wounds play a sad raga on the strings in the throats of some fallen military men. Indian Singh seeks his sweet lady among the golden corns in a Punjabi wheat field during the horrible silent interval. A red salwar kameez flutters in the day dream. A sudden roar makes him raise his rifle. Though he is Britain’s adopted son, he fights for his new mother with true love. She opens with a smile the creaking gate to the ecstasy of reunion- soon this smile is scattered like a phial in an explosion. She waited for him with the same verve for years and years in vain, until the earth worms claimed her wrinkled body one day. Thousands of memorial stones were erupted here and there after the First World War, but not a single stone remains to honor his valor. First published in Selected Poem Anthology 2014 (Pendle War Poetry, UK). An unfading picture of an Indian soldier fighting for the Aliies in a trench in France during the World War.