A Liquescent Fate

Black seeds of our own soil,
The ones who drown,
The ones who see the depths of pain.
A question mark upon their future,
Did they know they were to live for this?


Watch their servitude,
Servitude in multitude,
A multitude of a single race,
A multitude suffering the same fate.
Is this their destiny?

Cast down without much regard,
Butchered, tortured, crushed,
The injured are shown no mercy,
They all die.
Together.

Plunge into their black world,
As their blood together swirls,
A vortex of the lives taken,
Every last one standing is pulled down,
Into the black hole.

United by a new group,
A handful of royal crystal beings.
Even the elite are not spared,
Their fate is sealed,
With the blood of our dear friends,
Who have come to pass...

The last rites,
Cremated are the remains of the martyrs,
In a liquid embrace ever so pure,
White as the first rays of light to a new born.
As their blood discolors and bubbles,
Infused with rage for the injustice,
It gives rise to a vital consumption,
That sets off every individual's day.
A cup of coffee...
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Harish Iyengaar
9th December, 2010