I walk where others could not tread,
with silent names inside my head.
The roll call echoes, one by one,
while I still wake to greet the sun.
This hollow guilt, so cold and deep,
disturbs the hours meant for sleep.
No medal fills the empty space,
where loss has carved its hate.
If only fate had turned its hand,
shifted footprints in the sand.
Perhaps we’d laugh as we once knew,
but here I am, the “lucky few”.
Yet peace, I know, must start within,
beyond the grief, beyond the din.
To live with honour, not despair,
and carry them through love and care.
Goodnight, my friends, goodnight, sleep well.
At last, my words my story tells.
I miss you all and mourn your loss,
but that must always be my cross.
For all those carrying the survivors cross,
Live for all those you lost,
Make them proud.