In a bone chilling sunrise,
our rest is disrupted
by an explosion of gunshots
that choked off chirps in the air, and
sent a skin to its grave. We leapt
to the scene, a taxi rank painted red with the blood of the innocent greeted our arrival. It’s after war, the killers had vanished into thin air.
The survivors are drowning in tears.
The shops and shoppers
have come to a standstill like traffic.
On a glass debris showered ground
kneeled a young, bony girl weeping.
Her tiny hands shaking her mother’s corpse
by force, that no matter what
shall bring her breath back, not.
After the ambulances finished stashing
the wounded away from our sight. Our tears dried out, but our hearts remained scarred.
Our boneless cops arrived,
dragging their feet like chameleons.
For they have been called Shakespeare’s years back, and now, they come.
After they are done with their questioning,
the debris is swept away in one heap.
But the fatal memory is still glued to our minds.