On you were the robes of bitter yesterdays
Your heart, too heavy, carrying more than to bear
You do not care if it would break fast and spillages
In your cranium lay an evanescent book of archaic memories
Of how you'd sold your trust and filled with rust and cheaps
You do not care for a taste of renewal and reconciliation tips
You say names that bear our images on them are demonic
You tag trees wearing our colour as green wagless snakes
Are you unaware that broken branches with heavy hearts shred?
Should we say you'd grown big than you'd grown wings?
February had transgressed & you'd tied our names to crosses
Do you not know of our incompleteness and ties to nurses?
Listen, a boy would peep into the sky to fetch dew
To quench the cold fire aflame in your filthy heart
But the sky would've become a Sahara & anew your tears
This is not a poem, but it speaks more that silent noises;
"Clean the slate, leave the past to die the death of the past
Forgive, and ignite the fire to move on & stop the crises!"