Thirteenth

The malady of a peanut
fried in hot sand,
blanching her papery voice,
ashes redden into blackness
and darken,
more dawns die out,
all the dead are not lucky to live,
the guard of honour
salutes not to all the martyrs,
mute are the seeds of democracy
tucked into low blue flames,
burning to a cinder 
how can fire brigades sniff danger?
emergency shouldn't be quiet after all,
to be heard
helplessness has to shout
and loud makeup is the attire.
Pardon my interference,
I interpret for you an open secret,
slow poisoning was never noisy
but it brazenly kills in daylight,
'tis one of thirteen murder hacks
the phoneix is clueless about.

©songbriti

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