Wet Reflections—
Flooded
by the midnight shower,
And
gazed upon by gleaming eyes;
Ahead,
broken trees lay unheeded,
And
thunderous sounds went quiet.
Otherwise
by the scent of morning tea,
And
the music of the wheels,
Plants
became stones,
And
stones turned into sand.
Flashes
from a keen camera
Dissected
hundred eyes,
And a
flying bird was shot.
Where’s
the light?
Where’s
the torch?
We still
see the fire burning;
We still
see palaces in flames.
Wrecked
hand-drawn carts lay
Shattered
by the footpaths,
And alleys
smacked of smoke.
The parks
looked bright,
But the
borders were dark.
Strangeness
enough—I say.
Amidst
gaudy dresses and restless binges,
Life was
lacking.
Empty
streets, empty buses, empty houses—
Smiling
faces and glowing eyes
That never
saw the need to cry;
While lay
by the side
Crying
faces which Time couldn’t heal.
I keep smiling still.
They keep smiling still.
Giants had
lost their power—
Who was to
be blamed?
The blame game
continued,
Crimes
went unnoticed,
And
corpses ‘decked’ the façade.
Heavily distressed,
heavily pained
Rests this
reckless soul;
Let’s wipe
the tears
And bury
the corpses,
Purify the
alleys and
Save the
bird.
And still—
The lonely
moon sings its song
On a full
moon night,
And the
sun keeps smiling from behind.
