A Grey Sunday

That day no church bell rang,

No carols did the people sang.

Just a lone old woman sat at the chapel door,

Trembling and fragile, but her feeble voice carried her heart's roar.

Knelled, bowed and with folded hands, she prayed to the divine,

Restlessly, asking back her lost sunshine.

The brutal attack ruined her life, her abode,

Broken and barren now looked at her destiny's road.

The demon of terrorism engulfed her only son,

And each and every house in the hamlet was now left with none.

They were burnt ruthlessly in the flames of war and malice,

And now remained just the fumes of greed and vice.

The fate has already played an insidious joke,

Now the daggers of perfidy pinch and poke.

And the reminiscences of the fateful day make her ragingly whine and bleat,

And slowly she succumbs to the excruciating pain and breathes her last at God's feet.