Theme: Terrorism


by Pramod Khilery
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My wrath is noble.
My ire is sane.
Don't go on my eyes.
Ignore the gaze that seems profane.

My heart pounds.
My soul is tensed.
But I would be the last one
To see, the rationality fenced.

My hands tweedle.
My lips still mumble some verses
From the poem, a few words of
Which fell prey to those curses

Which had never been said
By anybody to anyone.
Which came to my shore
Carrying in the minds, hate-gun.


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