Fragile is human life,
like grass, full of sap today, tomorrow withered,
like vase, pushed by angry hand,
its broken pieces cut through petals, stems.
What beautified with tender hue and fragrance,
now, a debris at the feet of violence.
Is this a thread
that weaves into the fabric of Divine justice?
And, God is not a silent witness to insanity.
But, as the butterfly, a chrysalis remains,
till, by its volition, wings unfold,
so does a human soul in darkness stays,
till, in the break of dawn, the heart awakes.