It is but a season, though a season it is.
A pall of gloom now, where stood a blue sky.
Yet, amidst all the death around, there is a death,
to which my countrymen, you and i must never die.
Sorrow is a conjurer, turns too much to so little,
Hardens woe to numbness, then tears will run dry.
Yet, to the memory of these pyres burning,
my fellowmen, you and i must never die.
Only constant is change, a lighter air will come.
And we;
breathless no more, when this has passed by.
Yet, to these dying cries for just a mere lungful,
my dear hearts, you and i must never die.
Answers to questions, then questions to answers,
Where the fault lay, thinking heads will pitch a try.
Yet, to that unasked ask of looking within,
my soul-friends, you and i must never die.
He did it, not i, its easy to blame.
Have we not created, then believed this lie?
Yet, to the blood that has tainted our hands,
i beseech, you and i can never die.
Hope is a lonely warrior, alas, alone she won’t survive.
Fallen, but with lessons learnt, tis certain she will get by,
And then if we solemnly promise history, to never forget,
to such a death, in times to come, you and i will never die.
in these dark times i have here a piece of my heart….
embrace it should it embrace you.
or ignore should it not….
– Arsee.
Thinking Chitalia 