Casabianca

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.

The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud..."Say, father,say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried
"If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair;

And shouted but one more aloud,
"My father, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud
The wreathing fires made way,

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound...
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea.

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart

Felicia Dorothea Hemans

Another Night

And its night again,
thoughts back to square one.
Time rewinds to where it began,
memories agonize as if shot of gun.
Hollowness pushing to the edge,
loneliness screaming from within.
Calmness of surface fully shed,
laying off tears lids are shivering.
Taking charge of me is apathy,
every bone feeling so cold.
Your face never gets fuzzy,
chilling sweat can’t even hold.
Just want this misery to hibernate,
run hard in this blackness to zenith.
Just want to feel my flesh vibrate,
and smother every memory down beneath.

Baleshwar Singh