• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 11

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
my fellow beings:
From these deadly Lord's Messengers.