The Last Supper

As the remnants of food were placed on the table 

Laughter echoed, as disconnected was the cable

Gathered remaining residents of the town

After many fled, perished, or were hunted down

Chatting of good old days was started by old folks

Younger generations listened with curiosity, the valorous stories of hope

When the Great War began, everything ended

 In this mayhem, people’s life blended

The dirty senile table around which broken chairs were placed

As a child’s tummy grumbled, longing for the tit-bit taste

Only three women stood in the room

Who had escaped devastation, only to be summoned by the ultimate doom

Every day, a story of a hero and a coward was told

Holding their fate hostage, dice of luck villagers rolled

Innocent hands were tainted with the greed of survival

Countless lives lost longing for delusional peace’s arrival

Half a bowl of chips and one stinking fruit was shared by thirteen people

“What a delicacy!” was heard in place, which was once upon a time a beautiful steeple

The rest of their stomachs was filled with water mixed with mud

As they raised a final toast, in the name of lost blood.

Every person listened to fireworks, as their eyes filled with tears

But all of them were grateful to live their final moments with their peers

As the distant melody evolved into noise

Everything fell silent as terror yelled at top of its voice

Few in preparation took deep breaths, while others’ breaths were shallow

Some people were contended, while some cursed their lives callow

As hands were held, a screech was heard

In a moment, their bodies were rendered incapable and their vision blurred

As their bones peeked and the warmth of their blood cradled their souls

The tongue of the corpses still had the lingering taste of the last supper,

A rotten fruit and chips that were merely half a bowl…