Who's to Blame

Who’s to Blame?

Barath Badrinathan

Poetry

He picked up the little girl and stepped outside.
He pointed out to her, the vast expanse of the sky,
And the golden star shining above high.
He showed her the rapid rivers at flow,
And the lively glow of the dazzling rainbow:

A puddle of water stood shimmering on the wayside
Reflecting the seven vibrant shades of life

“Ah! A dancing rainbow! A God must be playing the fife.”

Side-by-side they walked,
Under graying skies,
Past the turning wheel of time.

She picked up the feeble man as she cried and shed,
To him, she pointed the vast expanse of the dead,
Under a sea of stars that fell overhead.
She showed him the bloody streams of red,
And the deadly glow of the dazzling rainbow:

Into a puddle of boiling blood and oil they fell,
One reflecting the seven salient sarcasms of Hell

“Look Daddy! The rainbow died. The Devil must have got a sell.”

As he soaked in his demise
He looked up at the desolate sky,
While the corner of his eye
Noticed his daughter’s image die