In trance I leaned on the window
Of yesterdays, overlooking the dimly
Lighted memory lane and my eyes grubbed
For those faces that groped with me through the
Hazy thorny path to heyday.
Some of them, to the passage of time, serfs had become.
Some in the fabric of futility repose, some under the
Arbor of the leafy bough of tree of fulfillment berth whilst
Some, to the dirk of mortality helplessly had fallen and to the
Ravenous scavenger fed, on the platter of their six feet allotment.
Dead though, but deathless eternally they will remain in my psyche.
Scavenger is symbolic of
the grave because it only
accepts the dead.