THE REMAINS OF THE DAY

An Innocent Life lost,

Is an Innocent Life lost.

Grief is Dark and Murky.

It is neither Saffron nor Green.

Blood spilled on the streets,

Is Bright Crimson Red.

The Bright, Glittering Fountain of Knowledge.

Reduced to Gray Ash,

Was neither Saffron nor Green.

The Colourful Books set alight,

Shops where business thrived,

In the Carnage nothing survived.

But who has been deprived?

Was it Saffron or was it Green?

The blood that turned to Water,

The Creamy Milk of Human Kindness

That dried up at the Altar.

The Mute Spectators, the Bystanders

Are they Saffron or are they Green?

While Vultures and Hyenas descend,

To devour the Foul Carrion.

Will we for a moment contemplate?

Will we permit Fascism to permanently Colour,

Our Hearths of Honey and Hearts of Gold?

Or will we continue to Paint Human Tragedy,

In a Myriad different Hues,

And view Suffering through Tinted Glasses,

Of Sunny Saffron and Glowing Green?

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