The creamy sludge on dirty waters,
that streamed across some homes;
there lived some souls motioned,
by the waters surrounding the charioteer's domes.
Streaks of sunlight, shone the sweat,
on the worker's neck;
as amidst summer skies and scorch,
ruined remains of the bird's peck.
The thoroughfare seemed not loved
no more, no men walked it through;
and all around lay weed growing,
on lands that once let thoughts brew.
The lone step rested today,
looking for the joy, sol lost;
the reason why, in human form,
dance of death, among infants boast.
Theirs was the nation so filled,
with freedom and wealth of smiles;
how did the weather uproar violent,
and change the valley to cries for miles.
© Rajat Mahajan. 2010