As radii converge with stipulated vengeance
disallowing the center to move any further,
the shrill cry, trapped in its own silence,
pierces my ears at the rise of primal dawn.
As horses neigh and soldiers retreat
the moon laughs in its white splendor,
trees shudder with coldness of heart
and send shivers as lightning in the sky.
As clouds gather with majestic darkness
snow-clad peaks melt their blue tears,
serpentine river, flooded with that rain,
spurts fast leaving behind a desolate plain.
That is the ground I choose to put up my fight:
Nature versus her master creation - a rebellion,
the battlefield contracts, internalizes within me,
but the mind is not ready to accept: the ground is lost.