My blank gaze was fixed on the fiery blaze. 

Soundlessly, the burning blood screamed…as the fingers of treacherous flames devoured it’s existence. 

And I?

I stood, my feet shackled to the grounds of fear. I swayed, to the turbulence of the winds of tears. I stayed, gagged and chained with my own weakness.

My eyes seared with grief and refused to blink, lest a tear should blur my sight… letting not a moment begone amiss. I looked on searching for every word carved on the parchment’s heart. But the greedy fire blackened to ash, the pages colored to my emotions. 


And they had cried. Cried out my name! Begged for mercy! My words, my verses, my stories, my secrets, my joy, my misery, pieces of my own heart, fragments of my own soul! Burning to smoke before my eyes…. Crying, screaming, writhing in pain… 

They had asked me, their voices screeching in agony, “what vice be ours, what felony so grave, that such is our tryst with doom? Have we been not companions in faith at all times which befell? Have we been not the very essences to your joy? Have we been not the cradle to your sorrows? Your confident, your relief, the reason to your being? You are nothing but cruel! Slaughtering what was born of your breath and blood! Give us reason!” 

Reason? I thought you would know. I am bound, helpless, confined by compulsion….nothing but a slave to impotence, flaws and feeble cowardice.

And sheer cowardice jerked my eyes to an escape. I strained myself to pull back my gaze and face the guilt ablaze before me. Hoping that the inflicted torment would abate this ceaseless cycle of hurt. 


The corners of the pages that had once adorned the glory in my eyes, curled inward, crumbling into the abyss of flames. My chest flared with pain, for it was my heart that burnt. I snatched my arm from reaching forth to save a sin. I held back from breaching the fate of the flaming frays. I clutched myself to muffle the wretched wails of guilt in my gut.

A strand of will snapped and brought me falling to my knees, head bowed.

I stared in anguish as the last of letters joined the color of mourning. 

The pulse of the rhythmic verses died down, burning the brightest. 

The sacrificing skin of paper scorched in the fury of betrayal. 

The wordless voice of expression was snuffed out by smoke of sedition. 

And the blood that burnt was my own.

The ruins of an unseen, unread, and unknown marvel lay scattered piteously before me. My tears moaned in bereavement behind my empty stare. The air was still, as if lamenting the woeful loss

Not marble, nor the guilded monuments

of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme…

…So, till the judgement that yourself arise, 

you live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes. 

No. What had been inked upon these sheets shall never see the light of day…

It would be buried in oblivion; its grave, unseen; its existence, a story never told.

And I shall carry the marks of their legend, etched upon my being. Until one day, they shall burn with me, again. 


One thought on “Burning

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