We are caught
up watching ourselves
in The Mirror of Erised,
The Mirror of Desire.
But the minute
we turn our backs:
we see
the reflection of life
dragging its tail
in the shadow
of death.
It is redthe colour of fire.
Never black or white.
Those are the
shades to defy.
But once we look
at its cracked red face,
we are touched
by the innocence
it holds in its eyes.
It carries the load of rotten,
blackened, smashed,
cut open humans.
Abandoned on the war grounds,
infected in hospitals, crawling in house,
bleeding on bed.
Shouldn’t death be forgiven?
Atleast for a day? Or an hour?
Let’s carry its baggage
and see if
we can still
hold on to humanity.
If not, then, we must
and I insist,
forgive death.
It does not
deserve our hate.
It does not.
