Bury the cradle

By Akshyaa Bharadwaj 

 

3rd NOVEMBER, XXXX

"Mama."
"Is the sun scowling at us?"
Her tail swished, ears flapped."Amusing question, darling."
But blithe curiosity was confined.
Cracks in the land sneer,
Sun rays stab their grey coat,
Heat flings taunts at the herd.
The wasteland,
Once the abode of doe-eyed forest nymphs,
Now an abyss,
Akin to the Kingdom of Hades.

The matriarch,
Maps the Odysseus for her family,
In search of the elixir of life.
Grit and Grace trapped,
Within the cobweb of menace.


9TH NOVEMBER, XXXX

Decrepit scavengers surround the bones,
Rapture is all captured in their relish,
As the blood seeps,
Into the sterile womb of Masai Mara.

Mama knows this midnight,
Where even the hunters,
Lose their gamble of life.

Her son is still coveted,
In a bittersweet haze of illusion,
Innocence preoccupied with mama's love,
Unknown of the real Tartarus.
Unknown,
But for how long?

Eyes of the matriarch linger at the carcass.
Carry on.

14TH NOVEMBER, XXXX

"Mama."
" When will rain arrive?"
She loops their trunks together and smiles.
A frail and poor smile.

Her son does not know that,
A test of nerves and wills has been laid,
Carcasses failed and crossed the Styx,
The rest stand with their limbs drenched,
In the forbidden and icy waters,
Trying not to bow down and fall,
Into the arms of cruel death.

20TH NOVEMBER, XXXX

Fragrant winds descended in the land to bestow whispers and murmurs,
Whispers of fertility.
Murmurs of jubiliance.
Promises of life.
Rain.
Thunder whipped around. Clouds took over the reigns.

"Mama."
"Look, it's rain."
Apparently,
The thunder had struck his heart too, where his mother's name was carved.
For, the response,
Was hidden in the dark and black pool of eyes staring back.
Dark and black, with all the twinkle lost.
The veil was lifted from his eyes,
Lifted by the pure and sacred lament.
Shattering grief dominated.

Those wretched Fates.
Tended to her yarn for so long,
Then cutting it right,
Before the nectar could reach her throat.

The matriarch kicked the dirt back,
And prepared the ground for it to embrace,
Her loving sister's dead body.
Pain and trepidation lick at the dwindling flames of her grit.
The herd was solemn for 1 carcass ,
But what about the other 2 deaths?


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