Walking barefoot on this thistle ground,
as the soul has long gone beyond,
where no human should have gone,
giving up, its spirit to its pawn.

As colour mean nothing to rain,
because all gets washed away,
leaving behind a bloody stain,
but history managing to stay.

Sunshine embracing exstinguished eyes,
ears not hearing anymore forgotten cries,
mouth empty words travelling in disguise,
body has become by now to frail to rise.

Firmly round ankles shackled anker,
patrolling laughable a lonely flanker,
bruises mending healed broken bones,
covering sins of long forgotten ones.