This place is not where I belong
though I lived here long ago.
The porch, the backyard,
all I remember
but they don’t seem to be mine.

The tornado took it all away from me,
the fiery tornado with flames,
with irons and shrapnels,
with gory and hate.

Butterflies flew here
for both children and men.
Lives resided here
toddlers played.

Then one unfaithful dusk
dark, despicable clouds shrouded us
and rained us with metals, vile.
They molested this place of
It’s calm, it’s beauty.

Did not want to return here
but threads pulled me through,
threads that seemed to be fragile
so strong! Who knew ?

I see the garden,
it had luscious green here
but now it seems
that the gusts took all.

Tears welled up in my eyes
for this unknown wasted land.
Sacred was what people called it.
The cherubins don’t find it sacred now, I think.
For I can see only devils here.

I turn my back
as I once had.

~ Aryan Pal

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