No Difference

There is no difference,
between the tears and the
sweat that trickle down
our cheeks. The river just
courses through the soft
land and falls on the
soil, where our forefathers
exist as ashes and decayed
masses, waking them
up in their deep slumber
of helplessness to the
wordless battle between
life and death. Those green
apple trees, shelter them,
against our ambivalence of
nostalgia and sadness, that
starts from nowhere, fate's
arms have been chained
to the inferno of hell,
all that is left for us
to do is, wake up to
the stinging lullaby in the
walls of our hearts, and
traverse quietly on the soil,
to parts of the earth,
where orchid flowers,
are ignorant of the existence
of a lake that coursed through
the stems, like a lost war brethren
who lived in a land,
that betrayed its people, and
threw them into the arms,
of poisonous smoke that
strangled them and made them
like dessicated cockroaches,
sleeping with mangled bodies,
deep within the caves, lost
in unknown, unseen mountains....

by nithya raghavan

Comments (1)

There are no superlatives for your work. I am speechless and spellbound.