Eight hundred minutes and more, the eyes stayed shut.
The restless mind, opened a portal of colours and woes.
Men, women and children and some unknown creatures too.
Played and pranced on the blank canvas in the open hut.
When daylight came, the mind was more marred,
By distant memories of the night left ajar.
A black pot of coffee, sat on the table,
Waiting to be guzzled by notorious men.
A killer, a rapist and a conman.
The house lay quiet, not a whisper was heard.
For all who lived within had been dead or hurt.
The three men quietly retreated in the silhouette,
After having a meal of shards and omelette.
As the sun rose higher, they cussed and sweated,
For climbing uphill, was fickle and false-hearted.
Of all their wrong-doings, they pondered,
The child, the dog and the urn,
Shouldn’t have been disturbed.