Towards the end of the day,
When some sets everywhere;
Some rises here and there,
Poaching for their quenching greed.

At night, in red sweaty rooms,
A new Dead is in the making-
Little ugly devils,
The wraths of the Past.

Fun was not on God's agenda,
Yet, the enslavement tool took over.
Sacrifice, sacrifice, sacrifice:
The scar-hearted ladies;
Taught them, the ladies.

They enjoyed, killed;
Themselves in the middle,
While paper notes bearing value more than God,
Ruled the world,
Scraping all the green along.
Census was took to make another Mars,
The real picture of the,
Relevant imminent future.

Read, write, learn to govern,
Then earn to learn to suffer alone;
So on went the motto of the Bright.
The liars, the culprits, the molesters:
People, people everywhere around,
Illegal to Nature,
Even then aware.
-Anjali Krishnan






© Anjali Krishnan