They were molested by the raving heat of the Sindh and crawled into trailer beds for a nights crawling sleep. Their children dewed their cheeks for the journey had been long and they bellowed to their fathers for mercy. The minds of the folk of far away had been merely concentrating on the end of the sticky fever of a trip. The tarred curtains and greasy ducts were musty with the evidence of the few rupees to go across. Shall there be a jerk and a sickly bend towards the left or the right, it was only a bend or only a jerk. How so if there was a deafening echo that travelled through the aisles and split the rows in half to simply splatter the bloody gore of guts to the crown of the rails?
They were brought forward to the darkness of the morning and thrown off their seatings to find themselves amidst the screaming cries of the hurt inflicted souls, some of which were nearing their final destinations. Their eyeballs rolled to the heavens as the blood made lines upon their sweaty foreheads. They saw white lights ahead and forgot how painful the few seconds of bursting flesh were.
The rest felt the heat in their wounds and heard the collisions well enough to unhear ever again. There was ripping silence that leaked with the burning steal from the high of the corroded rail. The coughs of death added impurity to the sufferings of those innocent to the harsh awakening. Torn flesh, fuming smoke and the stale morning heat seamed rude to a good morning. Shall they be waiting at the next stop to find a lost leg of their sister or a disposable body organ of one they could not identify? Shall they be hoping to see smiles of ten years lost but grieve for lost lives? Shall they return home now to avoid the sights of their very own’s eyes rolled up to welcome death as an end to suffering?
How cruel for fatality to bank on a long ride to home’s way. The grasses of sindh lay disturbed for now as they watched the rails die. How frantic for the land to find such colour in its centre core, for the redness made departures, surging rivers on the dusty parchment.
They were brought forward to the darkness of the morning and thrown off their seatings to find themselves amidst the screaming cries of the hurt inflicted souls, some of which were nearing their final destinations. Their eyeballs rolled to the heavens as the blood made lines upon their sweaty foreheads. They saw white lights ahead and forgot how painful the few seconds of bursting flesh were.
The rest felt the heat in their wounds and heard the collisions well enough to unhear ever again. There was ripping silence that leaked with the burning steal from the high of the corroded rail. The coughs of death added impurity to the sufferings of those innocent to the harsh awakening. Torn flesh, fuming smoke and the stale morning heat seamed rude to a good morning. Shall they be waiting at the next stop to find a lost leg of their sister or a disposable body organ of one they could not identify? Shall they be hoping to see smiles of ten years lost but grieve for lost lives? Shall they return home now to avoid the sights of their very own’s eyes rolled up to welcome death as an end to suffering?
How cruel for fatality to bank on a long ride to home’s way. The grasses of sindh lay disturbed for now as they watched the rails die. How frantic for the land to find such colour in its centre core, for the redness made departures, surging rivers on the dusty parchment.
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