Coffin of an Orphan.

So many sons  left their shells and asked for thoughts to come instead,

the mothers wept with their hair unkempt and passed their smiles to meat;

the blood oozed  from streets onto creeks and choked the earth with the stench,

the crops and creepers climbed alike and latched itself onto despair;

the wails never stopped as the walls broke down,

the ships never stalled on the boiling red of its world;

gone are the days and halted are the nights for there is no labour in a wake,

while there are dead sons and mothers aplenty, amidst an orphaned land.