Perfume of Death

God has never been dead, nor born

For his godhood would not have allowed
All these filth and misery to be unleashed here.

Those in disguise as holy men
Let others suffer and thirst for death
Rather than paying such pain for survival,
In order to fulfil their own twisted desires.

With conscience buried in oblivion,
They apatheosize themselves and smile
Obscene, ugly and abominable.

I am dying to scream out
My distress they would not hear at all,
This painful feeling of helplessness.

As the plague defeats the sunlight,
The perfume of death still spreads out,
All over the once sacred land,
Just not sensible ever.

And there echoes another bloody wail far beyond.

Wish it were a nightmare, yet hopeless,
And the reality could neither be worse or better.

The rueful deceased have yet to find their shelter.