Murals on walls are torn with claws,
That are splattered with webbings of red.
Hidden among advertised alleys of filth
Tears too are pebbles on sand.
So how should I pray with burst-open veins
To clouds of uncremated bones?
Pinned through my heart by pincers of loss,
My streets now are seasoned with hate.
Light so now thickens with shadows of dead
That bristle with shame and gobble our days
With filigree of ashes and smoke.
Chequered and charred with ensanguined mist
We search for a surge that is must.