Reflection

REFLECTION 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.