[BITList] “Sahib murgya! Ki jae, Ki Jae!”*

[John Feltham]

WW1

From a correspondent…



Some beautiful lines by an Irish Officer . He writes about when he is dead and about Sikh troops . originally from 'Songs of the Shrapnel Shell’


Afterwards
By (Captain) Cyril Morton Horne

In the Afterwards, when I am dead,
I want no flowers over my head.

But if Fate and the Gods are kind to me
They’ll send me a Sikh half Company
To fire three volleys over my head –
To sweeten my sleep, when I am dead.

And these are the words they will write for me –
“Here endeth a Fool’s Philosophy!”

And many shall sneer: But Someone shall sigh,
Yet I shall not hear them as there I lie,
For this is the Law of Lover and Friend –
That all joy must finish, all feeling end.

And many shall laugh: But Someone shall weep,
Yet I shall not know – I shall lie asleep;
A worn-out body, a dried-up crust;
Ashes to ashes and Dust to Dust!

And they’ll drink a toast up there in the Mess,
“Here’s to a friend in his loneliness!”
And music and talk for a while shall cease
While my Brothers drink to their Brother’s Peace.

And the Sikhs shall say (That were once mine own):
“Who rodeth with us often now rides alone!”
And leaning over the grave they’ll sigh –
“Sahib murgya! Ki jae, Ki Jae!”*

And I, who so loved them one and all
Shall stir no more at the Bugle call,
But another Sahib shall ride instead
At the head of my Sikhs, when I am dead.
And even this thought which hurts me so,
Shall cease to trouble me when I go.

My chestnut charger, Mam’selle,
(She was fleet of foot and I loved her well!)
Shall nibble the grass above my head
Unknowing that one she loved is dead.

Someone – my Horse and my Company
Shall fail to smile at the comedy;
Shall strive to reason yet fail to guess
That Life is little and Death is less!

And they shall sorrow a little space
Till somebody comes to fill my place;
But all their sorrow, their grief and pain,
They shall expend upon me – in vain!

And you – if you read this epitaph –
Harden your heart I pray you, laugh!
But if you would deal with me tenderly
Place one dew-kissed violet over me;
I claim not this and I ask no more,
Yet – this was the flow’r that Someone wore
In the long-dead days that have gone before.