To The Fallen

The tattering Tornado takes us down

And slaps me hard with the Satan’s gown.

Still untouched as the maximus crown,

The aura of which can only cause a frown.

She depended upon me, O dear,

With the hint of love and tinge of fear;

She pulled me up from the muddy earth under

And introduced me to the gruelling thunder.

The tomb of Hope was already built,

Nevertheless, she kept her tilt

And honoured me with the warmth of love

I felt at home like an olive-branched dove.

The rhyme of love thus discontinues

I still worship her as the Heavenly Muse.

Mayukh Lahiri