Smell of burnt fragments of dead civilization
Floats in the air
My world, it’s more than a crematorium
And am gonna pen them all
Without any fear.

Cadavers lies in layers
Of charred faces and bruises
Abhorred and battered
They raped us.
And justice happily takes rest. 

Those dead, their souls never take rest.
As we, still fall to prey
The magic potion in between our legs
Make feast for a day.
Satisfy culprits, makes them gay.

We protest, wish for the crims to be hanged
For a new beginning and end of  oppression
Still our screams go in vain.
And we get busy in hiding our pain.
This is my world and it’s more than a cage.
This is my world and I am caged.
This is my world and my fellows veil their faces.
Yet my pen has never stopped portraying them.
Since I am not afraid.

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