The skies have opened to a pour;
And his grave will be one moist today.
As his daughters stare into a drab, look into gloom,
As his young widow clasps her hands to nothingness,
And arms extended, an old mother searches in ruins.
Sinking by the door a shattered father, in a bend form,
Joins the skies in mutual grief, in a downpour.
What greater burden to a father than shouldering a coffin,
Of the toddler who once rode his shoulders in joyful rides.
No greater torment, to lower his seed in an eternal sleep.

As one more name becomes a ‘once’ to the oppressors might,
As one more life becomes a number to the vulture’s flight.
The night will again awake to the sobs of the deprived,
To the heartbreak of mothers, to silences of our wails.
  The living will die and the dead will continue to live.
Tonight and every night !

~S~
13th March, 2013

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