The Cry of Injustice

The end of time has sadly begun,
My life buried under the debris of his death.
A part of me has suddenly been snatched away.
These eternally outstretched hands await
A response. I receive none. I expected none.
As sense dawns upon me, it rarely does, I
Begin to see truth in its abundant light.
Colours seem to fade away, quite literally.
Red, Blue, whatever else- A far away fantasy.
An old lady, draped in white, takes my hand
With an odd motley of pain and sympathy.
The goosebumps on my hand give away my terror.
My new acquaintance journeys through her past…
Darkness is spilt with a queer generosity
On her recollections. Nostalgia tantamount to doom.
Tears traverse down their familiar path on her face.
We both blink back tears, lost in our morbidity.

In a little while, the vermilion that adorns my forehead,
Shall be smudged away…ruthlessly shown the door.
The hue shall remain, however, as tainted skin…
The crimson decorations on my dainty wrists shall be broken.
The shards of glass that scatter shall wound me forever…
The blood that flows can never be replenished…
Neither can my tears…

In darkness, I shall live. In darkness, I shall die.
In darkness, I shall persist, In darkness, burnt alive…