The Obscurity 

The ghost in the flying casket
switched the engines to stop.
The day was too hot;
they wanted a nap.

​The faces converged,
solemn and mission ready;
looked at the charred remains
and took the oath of
total obscurity.

​The pilots were at fault,
told the report:
yet never said those words.
It only said there was no
mechanical fault.

​No blame game,
after all, it is business.
A few lives lost in the sky
should never erode
the investors’ wealth.

​O those rats still burrow
into the ground.
A call from the ivory tower
shall tell them to stop.

​They are now fed and content,
offshore bank balances
kissing the moon's buttock.

​If blood has to be shed,
let that be in the skies:
passengers buy tickets
for perambulation,
not guarantee-of-life.

​O ghosts of charred remains,
I pray for forgiveness.
My English, charred and impotent,
is less eloquent than your silent words.

Can it ever describe
how you felt:
when the casket burst in flames,
when it dawned on you,
you were breathing your last,
or you would return to your loved ones-
Never?

O Captain, why can't you take the stand?
Don't you hear the cries of dead and alive?
Why do you want to be the hero
bearing the burden of ghosts?
But I forget,
your charred remains in the wreckage.

When the gavel shall hit the table,
'Guilty' shall be written against your name;
yet, you shall be the unsung hero
for saving the business.