The World Blasts Everyday

The world blasts in one nook or the other everyday. It writhes amidst the stink of the burnt emotions. Lullabies are mutilated in the roar of A.K.47. A flock of black birds hovers in the sky. Waif dogs and vultures carve the sculptures on the scattered fragments of the innocence. Infants fumble for the nipples among the debris. Forlorn whimpering of the newest widow rises up with the smoke. Family men step into the death wagons with the bleeding thoughts. White doves shudder to sit on the roof of the worship. A hundred revenge kids are born in each blast. All ‘isms' end in ‘revengisms'. Funeral of the peace is celebrated in the clattering of the weapons. As the emotions lose the buttress of sense and reason, the world blasts, then it bounces back.