She was weeping,her wails drown
the thunder,sweeping accros
the city streets,at a loss..
Three,two,one,the countdown
to an end,the sight of her son,
lying in a pool of blood,
conscious faces gaze and sigh...
Thirteen nights before,his first birthday
Gifts of chilled memories showered today
Frozen,she picks his severed arms
and flungs it towards the thousand germs,
gathered around the gory sight,
Sirens blare,red everywere,
but the resurrection still awaits...
Than he picks himself up,
watches his mother cry,he
feels her hand,but numb is her head,
Comes to me,I wipe his tears
We fly to a distant land
of white doves and a golden hand,
all the time praying,
give peace a chance....
P.S:-This poem is dedicated to the people who lost their lives in the recent Assam serial blasts..RIP...readers are welcome to post their valuable comments...
