Poetry

Without a collateral black magic, 
nobody wants to start a currency 
of silly thoughts. 
 
All tears had dried up in eyes. 
It was time to cry again for prudence. 
 
The spirits of ancestors were dumped together 
in a mass grave, 
and we elaborated to groom 
a new son of god, 
after slaining all sane arguments. 
 
Where was the need of pathos 
for dying foetusus in wombs? 
Let them remain unsung, untold, 
we will purge our sins from our gowns later on. 
 
An unprecedented situation has arisen. 
Somebody shouted from the past. 
came running like a bull 
and spilled the cup of elixir.