Sombre November rolls along
Bringing grim reminders of death and decay;
Starting with the Festival of the Dead.
Cleaned up grave-yards, aglow with candle-light
Masses of flowers atop mounds; garlanded monuments
A colourful festival of the dead.
Whisps of vapoury smoke
Whispered prayers, stinging tears.
Red Poppies for fallen heroes
Who braved war that others might live.
On desolate modern Flanders
As crimson blood seeps, merging with the soil.
As imitation poppies do the rounds.
Can this once a year reminder, suffice?
The great sacrifice!
Could scarlet poppies or crimson roses e’er repay?
The sacrifice of those young lives that bled away.
Waragoda Rd, Kelaniya