That night I was sleeping.

Suddenly I heard a cry,

A voice of a girl filled the air

From the house on the other side:

I woke up and rushed to the yard

To find that voice in the night,

Tried to see with my sleepy eyes;

The fog covered my sight.

Next morning I heard a fuss,

The girl hanged herself from the post.

Wish it had been a dream,

Like a snowflake on the mercury coast.

That night I was sleeping,

Woke up to a rebellion march.

Lighting torches, buildings and parks;

Every grass was received the scratch.

Suddenly a fiery ball, I saw

Knocked down my glass window,

Through the flames I saw the flaming eyes

Of the marching thousands or more.

Ran to the basement, closed the door,

I heard revolvers and swords of rust:

Wish I had never been born

To admire sculpture fragments in the dust.

One night that I ought to sleep;

Tried hard but somehow failed.

Switched on the news channel

To see the leader to be nailed.

The broadcast depicted the picture of God

That Man has become,

Not of the tyrant in the crowd,

Not of the Devil, the self-owned epitome.

The anchor screamed and said, “Today,

Blood is served instead of wine.”

While the mob danced, the reporters read

“The champagne and the poisoned brine.”

Critics suffered while the prophets sang,

With verdicts written on the tunnel walls,

‘Golden crest with memory of times

When gladiators rise and fall.’

Next day I found all were dead,

Cameras smashed and killed host,

I wished it had all been a dream

Like fury in a subtle coast.

That night when I tried to sleep:

Screams echoed in my brains,

As visions blanked in halogens,

Blood gushing down the drains.

Then when I walked through the lane

Where curtains hid the face of fright.

Children suffocate while parents argue

About the scope of thought this night.

Wiseman’s narration painted high,

“Peace retain as terror fades”.

Neon eyes and stone heart

Beggars, name the warrior dead.

Skylark sings the revolution rhymes

At beats of a broken drum;

Men are dead but chimes reverberate

In subways, streets and aerodromes.

Passion chase the twilight sun,

So-called honoured men, they offer a toast.

Martyrs give victory for the hearts won,

Like shadow in the sunset coast.

RevolutioN RhymeS, 4.5 out of 10 based on 2 ratings