A TALE OF FALLACIOUS PRAISE

The blackened threads of oceanic sighs had defeated the moon- the most radiant thief            The intoxicating sleep had closed every eye                                                                           Amidst these transient deaths, stood a man of future, crumbling every lost leaf                      Fearing percipient dotage, an ancient fort had turned towards his immature eye

 He exclaimed “Ah! Mesmeric is the marvel of each martyred stone”                                            “Captivating chandeliers must have illuminated the dark void”                                                     Then illiterate words spoke “ War had protected our glory and pride”, in his eyes they shone          Lies of stained prints charmed him, while his thoughts were toyed    

His judgement misted by a dishonest dwelling breathing out a fake fog of fame                            Yes, this upright marvel of grandeur was rooted in morality which had sunk                                  It was indeed an epitome of eternal loss, innumerable tears it did claim.                                      It was the dark child of a celebrated war’s victory, when sacred drops were thirstily drunk

Within every grain, every stone loudly echoed the silent wails of the innocent                        Every bygone illumination had been faithfully stolen in return of an aphotic life                    Disloyal letters were shaped to flaunt those who fought for power, who glowed like the deceiving crescent.                                                                                                                                Everything was war struck, fortunate were those who embraced the ultimate step of life

Beginning, happening and waiting – all breaths were constricted in jubilation of lost humanity.    For this fort, the mirror was only with the blessed for good.                                                          But for the greatest optimists, it was a mark of success of the noble of known but not acknowledged vanity                                                                                                                  Alas, the celebrated victory of good was cursed victory against good

And with the folktale thread, he knitted a tale of fallacious praise.                                            And walked away with illusionary past and bequeathed pride                                                    Unheard went and will go sobs- penniless and priceless.                                                                Cries of the dying will only be heard by those who died.   

                                                                                                             ~FAREEHA ALMAS                                                                                                                                  (B18EE120)