Acrylic colours graced thy paintings,
Silver linings frolicking in your poems.
Marked in dying colours and famished look,
They carried a serendipity within.
Mushings of forlorn citizens,
Of today, tomorrow and yesterday still.
Slaughtered dreams and buried aspirations,
Of bruised bodies and dying souls.
Soldiers fighting at the borders,
Students with their hoarders.
Peasants with administrators,
Those wretched little conspirators.
Martyring at each days end,
In the name of sedition.
Patriots they are still,
Confounded in their own castle window-sil.
In the end, we are all martyrs still;
Helplessly witnessing our own devil.

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