Like tattered papers.

Like spruced, tattered papers,

It falls down its womb smirking,

As an unsparing king. Callous .

It invades entire the planet.

As it aspires, in brute mores-

the throne of wonderful earth,

Stillness dispels like a loudspoken voice,

Morphs the singing globe to a wordless mouth.

Nests crash under the kings’ might,

become the graves of their own members,

Oh ! Doomsday befalls the craven birds,

Like a harsh night o’er the frail mother of Kashmir.

Lives mourn and mourn,

the wrenchingly fall of sun,

Like mother mourns the gash of her son,

Mouths whisper to each other,

When would it come ?

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