The raging sun on the baked skin,
The little beasts with throats parched,
Far away a nightingale sings,
Seems just for those souls wretched.
On the top the cruel master,
All with poise and noise and laughter,
Urges the tired man to walk faster,
And the Unforgiven collapses.
Septic wounds and singeing bruises,
Caked dry with sand and blood,
Wounded souls with none the vices,
Lying asleep in the mud.......
License
Subtle Complexities and Myriad Simplicities by Ashok Subramanian P is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
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