The Grave , New World

When the grave, new world unfurling around me
Screams and bellows violently my mind keeps going back
to that tiny, mischievous little girl
Wayward as a truant curl,
who found a bounty in nothingness
In her snug universe where it rained nothing but good cheer.
Drenched in the unending cascade of love
when red was the colour of a rose.
So was the hibiscus flower
Blood- red.
And the red nose
of ungainly Santa Claus throbbed with joy unalloyed.

So many years down the line, I watch horror- struck
As scary shadows loom
tiny saplings quiver, too petrified to bloom.
The skies rain hatred, and red is the colour
the streets are drenched in.
Across the contours of a world slightly blurred
I see a scared, uncaged bird,
fluttering its wings, its trills killed, its exuberance stilled.

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