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
Mortified
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.