By Sanskriti Gandhi
Down the dark alley,
Dim light flickers inside the one-window room.
My petrified gasp breaks the eerie silence,
In the air, the rhythmic ‘swish’ of a knife looms.
I saw it from afar, through the lone window,
The horrific screams still ringing in my ear.
Rivers of blood punctuating the shrieking crescendo,
Those lifeless pairs of eyes, the count now too much to bear.
Right next to the flesh of mass, I buried my secrets,
Hoping that one day someone will dig up the grave.
Open the buried hatchets, when even the blank death won’t retaliate,
Pull out the backstabbed knife, the bleeding wound is saved.
Then one day, I saw him prowling,
The graveyard behind the butcher shop, at last.
The ghost of the future crawling,
To dig up the skeletons of the past.
Headstone after ashen headstone,
He dug up the soil to find the anomaly.
Deep beneath a mangled carcass lying alone,
The tears frozen on the remnants of Humanity.