From heaven’s height

    Onto the cobbled stones

         Of reality,

          He was…mercilessly

Yanked down

One black Thursday in June

Prostrate, grasping at straws in a nightmarish dream

To the assaulter he asked, why?

 But…

             Like a raging tempest,

She huffed and puffed, transfusing the already pregnant silence

Eyes and mouths, turned narrators

Whispered gossips and strained eavesdrops competed

In vain attempts, at snatching a role

In the macabre drama unfolding before their very eyes

          Supposed friends wrenching themselves apart!

Clutching at his wounded pride 

He heard the vulturine yelps

The giggling cackles of conquest of those

Who plotted for this day.

      Oh! Their sweet sounds of victory!

     And he shuddered at the betrayal.

He begrudge not their laughter

Nor their jeers…but

Today under the smouldering rays of an angry afternoon

He wants catharsis.

Why would the one dear to his heart

Suddenly turn intemperate?

Why did the one

He gave the key to his heart

Turn nasty

And undress him in the market place?

And made him dance to the malaria songs of vampires?

Was it hubris?

He may forgive

But to his resurrection morning

It will not be morning on creation day

But still gratitude