i weep
as i ran my fingers through
them.
the massacre of the coloured
pencils,
markers.
(by some of the heartless sec 2s)
it meant nothing to them,
just colours squeezed into
a piece of wood or plastic.
they left the markers un-capped
- ink ran dry (bleeded to death)
they threw the coloured pencils
on the ground,
in the air, where it hits the fan
- wooden protective-frame broke (broken bones and internal injury)
they did not put them back
to where they were found
- misplacement of the same kind (resulted in broken families)
it'd never occured to them,
how these little helpers,
added brilliant clours in their work,
the life.
they are not colour-blind but they can't see colours,
they have brains that do not function,
they have hearts that ignore details
they performed this brutal act
without a hint of guilt.
i placed the remains
in the last box,
savaged what i can.
together in the casket,
i bury my tears and my hurt.
reader k | 8/24/2005 01:02:00 AM |
