Sacked City

The empty jhulas swing back and forth,
Above the cold embers of half-doused fire.

The sunsets today seem to smother,
The whiteness of the lilies that want to be born.

The stony silence of the resolute men,
Melt away hopes of the little ones and

The grief of mothers pit against the
Distant peaks like wingless butterflies..
In an attempt to assuage the injured kids.

A vast expanse of dusk covers the torsos,
Searching for their severed heads and
The silence that covers is so terrible-

Even hyenas are shedding real tears for
Their inability to feed on the human Caracas.

And to the onslaught of plundering savages-
The God's beseech for forgiveness from the dead,
For not being able to carry out the final rites.

The dark is so deep, amidst the unlit pyres,
There might not be a dawn to the demised tale-

Of this midnight.