The sun came up as it did every morn
But the sky was strangely grey.
Birds did not the trees adorn,
It was an unusually quiet Sunday.
Nay leaves rustled nor barked a hound,
Nigh the sirens blared.
In the hushed town the only sound,
Mayhem lone declared.
The customary prosaic, lethargic eyes
On a Dominicus are open wide
Like the expanse of a rose, ere it dries,
Smashes to smithereens its erstwhile pride.
Every eye spoke of a foreign fear
Lips doth silently pray.
Every face doth numb appear
On that unusually quiet Sunday.
PS. Special thanks to my friend Ashwin Dodani. It was he who compelled me to write and write on this very topic. 🙂