Towards the blinding light,
The last station at sight..
Towards the nebulous uncertainty,
The last survivor of a nuked city..
The sky turned grey,
World turned into ashtray,
Smoke seemed solid now,
He wiped the last drop of sweat from his brow..
Hope? was there a thing like that?
When survival was not a threat?
He couldn't recall the meaning of the word,
Only a vague feeling crept into the absurd....
The dying screams of thousands rang in his ear,
That was the last music he could hear,
And he thought it to be a masterpiece,
How could God's last beat be anything else?
God? was there a thing like that?
The broken debris at his feet didn't help him decide,
Neither did the forgotten prayers he used to recite.
Nor the corpses of the soldiers dead in combat..
He strode along the path where his home used to be,
Where once laughter rolled,beside the old palm tree,
The places etched into the walls of his memory,
Were now burning pages of a forgotten story....
The sun was coming up, redder than ever,
Reddening the already bloody river,
He looked up, his stare blank..
He was the last survivor,but didn't know whom to thank....