Moment Is No More

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Throughout the transition
no place on earth is left
where blood is not shed.
Which day should i recount
that has not been engrossed
into the black hole of devil’s act.
In a week, in a month or in a year
that is not slugged; except the
moment
which has also been painted
by the devil’s act, with the blood
of innocent for whom
spring waited to welcome
to play with in lovely garden.
Alas ! it has to return back.
Who will shed tears to wash it
so as spring may enter
to watch blooming flower
and play with.
Perhaps, None .