Ground
This place reeks of death
That heady dark afterglow
After the dust has settled
on mutilated bodies
the scavengers choose to ignore
still unmoving but feeding on
opulent rays of the sun
This place feels breezy, not heavy, but tranquil
Just like the butterfly effortlessly
dotting the now high grassed ground
Winged creatures
flutter across marking their presence
settling and nibbling on seeds
scattered on earth
once a bed for the dead
-a herald of morbidity
This place emanates painful memories
Amidst the suspiciously tall greens and delightful flying creatures
Lies a vacant eye that sees time
nestling with the burden of black
on the edge of lightness
and the promise
of a frivolous tomorrow.
Chriselle Fernandes is a writer, poet and an educator. You can read some of her work on @jitterbugsjargon