THEY WERE STILL ALIVE – TRIBUTE TO AMERICA , PART

3
The bellows of smoke that rose in the air; still had poignant
traces of their breath,
The splinters of glass shattered all around; still had profound
stains of their blood,
The gargantuan slabs of concrete lying in disarray; still had
brutally pulverized fragments of their valiant bones,
The incoherently shaped mirrors poking out from the rubble;
still had their terrorized reflections,
The sordid bits of paper blended with stone; still had
embodiments of their last minute declarations,
The disastrously squelched telephone pieces; still had shrill
recordings of their horrified and ghastly screams,
The unconsumed cakes of food adhering to the severely
distorted lifts; still had vivacious traces of their saliva,
The strands of metallic junk diffusing from the broken car seats;
still had the blurred photo of their beloved,
The ripped apart fragments of curtain cloth wound limply around
the gleaming iron nails; still contained curled masses of their
blood soaked hair,
The disdainfully beaten pieces of plaster engulfed in clouds of
dust; were still impregnated with scores of their shimmering
teeth,
The mud sprinkled for kilometers on the stretch; was still moist
with their river of agonized tears; which must have profusely
oozed out from their cheeks,
The mammoth sized pillars which once held the building one
piece from beneath; were still flooded with bonquet's of bruised
flowers which they had been just
rewarded for their achievements,
The eagle which incessantly encircled the appalling sight; still
had their expensive chains of silver in its beak,

The thoroughly dismantled upholstery buried several feet under
the debris; still contained compassionate traces of their warmth,
The computer screens split apart into infinite halves; still
displayed nostalgic images of their eyes,
The majestic wall paintings battered and bashed from all sides;
still had animated marks of their caress,
The revolving chairs now an inconspicuous shadow of
themselves; still had a fine conglomerate of chocolate powder;
which they must be merrily munching a few
seconds before,
The colossal chimneys which were now reduced to matchsticks;
still had their countless dreams rampantly lingering around,
And who says they were dead?, for if not anybody; but it is my
firm belief that they were living; as no matter how
unprecedented was the tragedy; no matter how horrific their
destiny had been; their hearts were palpitating louder than
outside world several feet below the rubble; with each beat
louder than the other and proclaiming that THEY WERE STILL
BREATHING AND ALIVE .

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful