The Dusk At The Dawn
A beautiful morning of day thirteen,
by Srinidhi S U
The sun was about to rise.
Birds were up to start their routine,
Searching for nuts, seed and rice.
The street was dull and busy but old,
With bicycles rushing milk and news.
Great poor souls cleaning the streets though cold,
Sweeping aside fallen leaves and dew.
In a beautiful house the work was at brisk,
Food in the kitchen, hot water for bath,
Worship of the God in another part,
My heart aches to write the aftermath.
Lo! Broke out the fire, all of the sudden!
Extending its flame to uncontrolled height.
Burning lakhs of memories, works and wishes,
Taking away four lives, causing fright.
It was a dawn as beautiful as gold,
Burnt to ashes by the fire's cold.
When many were still on bed with yawn,
To that beautiful family and that beautiful home,
It was the Dusk at the Dawn!