When nothing remains
And you lie with bare hands,
Sweating over misplaced turmoil,
Undecided and the last drop of tear
Oozes out of the dry red eyes,
When ahead lie dead heaped like rubbish,
Under the pregnant sky, gloom coloured,
When alone you are beside the skeletal remains,
Contemplative mood, "Ah!
"I never knew what went wrong!
"Nay, the lightning came after the turmoil,
"Perhaps 'twas the celebration of the departure of the dead;"
When you beat your breast in futile anger,
When your sweat mingles with water,
When the heaven rushes past your parched throat,
And life feels its first pat of encouragement,
You stand alone, looking at the cadavers-
How the crow and vulture become friends at death-
And you say to yourself -DEVOUR!

COMMENTS :

When one is dejected there are, among others, two courses open to him. Cry or get angry. Most people in most cases prefer the former option. It’s easier and more soothing. A good cry is great uplifter. Tears saved hearts that would otherwise have broken, as they moistened it. (If you have ever wondered why the suicide rate among men is so much higher than women, it is because men rarely cry and thus crumble inside; women on the other hand cry from time to time and thus prevent any breakdown.) Getting angry, on the other hand, is the option of the great men. They are few and far between, but when such occasions come to light, we are encouraged to take inspiration and alleviate all the causes of our trauma.

From the warmth of my womb
When he broke forth fiercely
Clutching a black clot of blood in his hands
This one was born for me!
Like a wild dog biting off its after birth…
Like a lion that cannot master its rage…
Like a falcon attacking its own shadow…
You have destroyed.
                 -The secrete history, Dr. de Rachewiltz
A poetical rendering of the oft-told tale of the Great Genghis Khan having been born clenching a blood clot the size of a knucklebone.

See: Rancour