The Settling Fog
“Save, save, save me from the brutal hands, ”
by Shahida Latif
The cries emerged early in the foggy morn,
In the month of December in frosty cold.
Then a volley of bullets was fired,
The cries instantly became silent;
The neighboring windows, the doors opened,
They seemed like black holes in the thick fog;
The lookers’ images appeared like phantoms,
Then smelling stinking smell of the foul game,
They shut tight the windows, the doors,
No one came to rescue the victimized being,
For the fog was settling before the sun rose.