A man and his wife pluck a rose red shell
There is no time for sleep, no time for bread
They do not speak as I sound the death knell

Hysteria, the burning carousel
Hand by hand I hold, foot by foot I tread
A man and his wife pluck a rose red shell

But their fear upon fear, I cannot quell
I kiss them each on ear nose cheek and head
They do not speak as I sound the death knell

Children’s stories we will always retell
These hospital beds now swallowed in dread
A man and his wife pluck a rose red shell

Apocalypse, our breaking citadel
Such youths, why was I not taken instead?
They do not speak as I sound the death knell

Are we masochists? Are we infidel?
From whom to seek solace if not our dead?
A man and his wife pluck a rose red shell
They do not speak as I sound the death knell

Nazia Jannat