By Bhuvan Prakash
They say birth was consecrated for you,
If it's true, then why did gusts of darkness swallow me.
They say I was sanctified,
Perhaps that is why chaos clings me around,
Like a child chasing newfound freedom in me.
They say I was raised by kindness and care, indeed.
They are right, true to words,
But chaos lived there long before they knew.
I say chaos raised me as much as kindness and care,
Yet the truth remains forbidden,
Where love drenched in watering its grave
In tears of rain, is hidden.
The grave is the only ruin left unbanished,
Holding my sanctified presence in time.
Though I too shall perish,
To complete the consecrated birth of mine,
Yet they say rain whisper.