Page 17 - CLASS MAGAZINE

Incarnation of

Brawn

-Anupama S M

The trees were pretty as matchsticks,

Enormously ignited, I was flame.

Death nudged upon my shoulders,

Ergo my burden I became.

And the sky was red as cerise,

The sun was white as snow.

My legs yanked me to my quietus,

Onto the encore show.

I was trudging just to burn,

Ashes on my skin.

It was always the same fire,

I watch it begin.

You will spot me in the smoke,

All the scars that I will acquire.

Please don’t believe I burned to death,

Cause my martyrdom is burning with ire. 17