By Subah Bhatia.
When bodies shall be shrivelled,
With their hides lying on marble floors,
When the once proud’s head shall hang low,
For the root of its majestic self, hangs on a dainty wall, putting up a show.
When the silent mourning, it screams,
As the invisible tears fall,
Flattening the fur of their blood,
As from the plant of despair sprouts yet another bud.
When eyelids droop,
And all that remains of bodies is a hard white,
When the silent cries freeze and blood stills,
When the glow of eyes diminishes and the metal oval kills.
Then the once dismissed drooping silk on a stem,
And the ceasing rings on a tree,
Shall be all that is left,
As a constant thorn, a reminder of man’s theft.