Dinastiya DI A NE PO R R A S
The streets reek of strong perfume, masking the blood Seeping from the cadavers of those who had offered their lives To the godly one. The deafening frenzy of stomping boots And horses speed past, an overwhelming mayhem —their own condensed chaos. It enveloped their rule Slowly but surely. They are trapped in their own microcosm, A small universe with their jewels, trinkets, and silk. Where being born as a daughter is a gift yet a dismay, Where being born as a son is a blessing and a curse. The filthy and insensible whisper in the ears of the powerful, Like parasites on the lion’s back. The hunters become the hunted, Feasted on by the multitudes. At long last, the meek will reign. It crumbles more as the grip becomes tighter and tighter— The dynasty built on the backs of the forefathers begins to perish.
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P O E T RY
