1 min read

The night seems everlasting

Air heavy with grief

People in a frenzy

Stumble on the corpses

In an all engulfing darkness.

The darkness

Colluding with the emperors

Hides their impotence.

The emperors

Sitting in their high chambers

Their ears proofed

To the cacophony of screams.

The emperors

Washing their bloodied boots

Waiting for the night to end

Their faith tightly hinged

In the cyclical propensities of time.

The sun indeed

Comes at dawn


Its face tarnished

By the smoke

Rising from the burning pyres

Of insignificant creatures

And silent smoulderings

In despondent hearts.

A thousand open eyes

Stare vacantly at the sky

Imploring, not for mercy,

But for dignity.

The vultures, fully sated,

Look the other way

Joining their hands

In gratitude

To the czars

Celebrating the festival of death.

Harsh Kumar was trained as an engineer as it is rightly said that having an engineering degree is the first stepping stone towards being a true artist. Currently he moves from city to city in search of resonance and is relishing his life in the time that is not yet lost.

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