It was
A garden full of young flowers
Swayed with gentle breeze
Fragrance all around
Attracts flies and wasps
With open mouths to Sun
God burning bright to light
Top of matchsticks
Potential weapons
Now it is
A park full of trampled flowers
Fragrance of nausea
Disaster could have been averted
People blame God
In white clothes
Standing with folded palms
Yet greet him with the garland
Of squashed flowers
God bent their neck
With a looming fear
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