Friday, 1 April 2016


Shattered dreams of yesterday,
hung up like portraits
the sordid nightmare of today
painted into memory

"you need not worry,
paradise does not exist on Earth,"
they say,
little consolation for the burnt

Scorched on the tips of our tongues,
the heat leaves sound muffled,
we live on spitting out bloodied letters,
words are inconceivable,

Suffering, they say, makes no sense,
it is not us who architected hell,
But the God you worship,
and the devil in you cultivates it,

Stories of self harm,
weaved easily into histories,
victors of war on the precipice of power,
intoxicated by its allure,

"you did this to yourselves,
besides, history is the archaic remains of yesterday"
they say,
little Justice for the burnt,

Victors bear no responsibility,
in a universe where loss,
is a torch carried by the lost,
using its light where stars emit none,


If an atoms weight of hope remains,
light as a feather,
It resides in the love of oneness,
where the footprints leave no trace,
not on earth,
but in the hearts of our fellow man.