Somewhere along the cobbled paths of memories
Palm trees grows.
Among the thorn bushes
The grunt was growing into limbs.
In the dead mussels scattered on the sand
She felt the agony of sea thoghts,
For a moment, though, she felt like a mussel
The next moment
As if a thrown away dirty towel
Tearing that thought out of her mind
She rose like the sea,
Walked back to life.
Bursts of memories
They were moving their heads again.
Bloody wheat fields
Shut their eyes tight.
In front of a house with its head bowed,
In the middle of a crowd
Scorched like the earth,
With mud-colored cheeks,
In the fire of events.
Children swept away like dust,
In the villages of the suffocated dead,
The joys of childhood…
Through the sugarcane plantations,
Wolves patrol again.
Amidst the tall grass in the sugarcane field,
Forlorn lies the blood-soaked gown of a girl…
In the mystery of midnight
The pyre burns!
Covered with ash!
In the shops of the cities
More candles are sold…
The situation was undesirable
They finally found a way out
All the words in use
Were withdrawn without a warning.
New words were released
For everyday usage;
Gentle and hopeless
Patriotic and amiable
Daily usage of words were restricted
To minimal numbers
So as not to Multiply
What is said to be
That is how the country produced
A dictionary with least number of words
The country is all quiet now.
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