In a fist of debris, what I see
A lost conquest, of a bygone clan
The hands, which etched, a spent history
Are all but lost, in tombs of man!

The streets, once paved, with a tribe’s glory
Now lead, nowhere but, shattered shrines
The bazaars, which once, bartered spree
Now haunt ethos, of erased bloodlines!

The crumbling martyr, still stands tall
And braces for the, coup de grâce
Civilizations born, to rise and fall
Leaving behind, pride’s ugly face!

A mother who slays, and, then rears
New present’s ‘pretense’, on a past ‘profane’
History’s the truth, of mankind’s fears
And The Cities Lost To Human Stain!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra