Buried Alive

The secluded grave where I was buried
Alive, has now a majestic Gulmohar tree 
Standing tall and strong, spreading 
It’s lean long branches, encompassing 
Engulfing, everything falling in its way.

It’s roots penetrating the very core of
Mother Earth, keeping me warm inside 
Her womb, it will bear fruits for thousands 
Of years, after you and me will be gone 
Silk cloth that was shoved into my mouth,

To silence my voice has now millions of 
Listeners, on its humble branches migratory
Birds from south chirp and listen to the 
Softer heartbeats from beneath the ground, 
In its formidable bark dwells a civilization 

Of insects of various kinds, nests of birds
Where new lives are germinating from
Yellowish shells, eager to spread my voice
In all directions, maggots have done a 
Perfect  job by nibbling away the sinful flesh

Peeling it from the frightening skeleton, 
Horrifying the scavengers and the species
of one particular mankind, through me 
tall elephant grass is making its way like 
a bushfire enflaming, an entire row of houses 

In the town where dwell women of my kind,
Silenced, chained  buried in the very walls
Decorated with nude portraits of victorian 
Virgins, for mine and their voices, will echo
Forever in the hollow misty damp air 

Sister nature will take its own course 
Merging together with us, for we will 
Resurrect and rise from our nameless 
Graves in times to come, for we are not
Dead but patiently waiting for our turn.