MESSIAHS CHRONICLES 1

Your long wails and longer supplications,
our sacred courts have reached,
lingering images, flashes of untold
sufferings, sorrows and pain it brought
of endless journeys
spent toiling, bent and doubled over
beneath immeasurable weight,
through night and day.

The scars of long drawn battles,
in which you were bound
to be the loosers,
are etched so deep that balms
cannot soothe them,
nor day break away
the shadows of your comrades
felled even before they could leap
in their stupendious hopes,
of changing your fate.

Untold memories best left untold,
like the Piper on the gracian urn
of pain searing through your being,
from a thousand tongues of whips
from legs robbed of its flight
by a single stroke of an axe,
memories best left untold.

These memories best left untold,
of a painful bubbling kind of thought
that starts right from your core,
and gradually spreads and spreads,
till it becomes you
killing every other feeling
but itself,
like the pain of a bud
forcefully deflowered,
when its time is yet unripe.

Memories best left untold,
of sorrows akin to that
which a hen must feel,
at the cruel seperation from
its chicks,
your chicks likewise
from you were torn,
to a fate of which
you know naught.

Yes we have heard it all,
and we also feel it all,
your crystal tears no more
shall fall,
your supplications no more
shall rise,
your toiling this day
shall cease,
and your ghost no more
shall live!