By Gayathri Sudheesh
An aggressive sprawl,
Wings of despondence, yearning to crawl,
Utter despair weaving a translucent tapestry, shreds of stark terror,
leaving behind scars of mere mishap,
To let out a cry, amidst a hundred woes,
Not a single soul, dares to hold.
Hatred and vile haste, thriving so vigorously,
Anguish reigns, to fall upon all,
To vehemently thrash and blemish,
all that's theirs no more.
The familiar vineyard, days grown old
A distant haven, yet memories so indelible, to grip tightly onto all that they so piously reaped,
yet their timid manus, couldn't sustain those dire scourges.
To leave, they yell
To disappear, but where, to hell?
A place called home, now a bleary sight,
being torn apart into ruthful remnants,
Yet that newborn's cries, fill those petite walls,
times of tender caress, a home so blithe and pure,
It surely was.