Brevity, Quill

TIRED

My frail body drags on the road spewed with violence. Starving bodies and naked babies wail for a morsel. The fires grow bigger, destroying everything in their path. The potholes, uncovered manholes and heaps of garbage adorning the pavement. The billowing smoke from chimneys chokes the air. I carry on my existence, a huge loan, a 2 crore loan, the burden on my shoulders. At a distance, I see a tree, the only one that remains. I look back at the country which was once my home, at the road through the heart of my motherland, corrupt, malicious and black with the soot of politics. A thin white colored rope hangs from the lofty branch. I nimbly feel it in my callous hands, hands which once sowed, nurtured and harvested huge fields of grains. I put my head into the loop and tighten the knot. As my feet are lifted off the ground, they dangle, just like they used to in my childhood. I am tired.

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