The Survivor

And it is the time –
the last of my hours
that makes me submerged in all the reds and blues and greens of my entity.
I held the world as a hat upon my head:
surrounded myself in it like a blanket on a winter night –
when it was bombing hard
Or when it fell like a death upon the 'child'
and still I could not absorb it thoroughly;
Even though they say they are the 'Lord's Messengers' and working for Him.

It was a maze of intricate flowers and thorns,
a dazzling pattern of hues and checks,
and a fine line of oozing blood that ran through my fellow beings trapped by them –
When I was trying hard to cover 'me' in this red blanket:
as if I was stained from the blood of all those murdered and killed and thrown upon on the shore and elsewhere: dead or migrating.
But in the end, nothing matters:
Neither cold nor hot,
Not even the blanket or the hat above my head,
It is the life that I survived
And will survive through eternity
Like those leaves and flowers and hazy morning sunshine.
It is 'I' and the 'SURVIVAL' that leads me to save myself
and
my fellow beings:
From these deadly Lord's Messengers.