New born morning of the rising sun,

Like any other, it stood out none,

Birds grew wild, fluttering through trees,

Trees tossing, their lightening leaves,

The morning glow, began to spread,

From the city, the sun looked red,

Streets came to life, flowers in bloom,

Down alleys, through markets, the breeze blew,

The day held no meaning, to all,

Those who lived in peace, with nowhere to fall,

Every detail, ordinary and plain,

Every beauty, faded and stained,

One omen, one shard of reality,

Solemnly pronounced, the identity,

Framed in fire, deserted in a shroud,

Its gravity, soon to gather a crowd,

Upon the skin of the moment like a callous,

Tall and sinister without a breath, the gallows.

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