This is one poem of mine that I am really proud of, cocky as I may sound!
Well, who demarcates between right and wrong? How clear and sharp is the line? And what about those who live at the edge not because they are bad but because that's where they get a little space to live? Just a poor excuse? Read on,
The heavy knife swung like
A sword from the hell,
Minutes before it was like his son,
Now it is just "chunks of meat".
He dared not look in its eyes
Its cry ripped apart his heart,
This one was particularly dear to him
But after all it was a lamb
And he is a butcher.
He could have spared its life
He loved it so much,
It was such a sin...
But what about them
Whom he slaughtered daily?
They too had a right to live
But he killed them
So he had to kill it.
Killing innocent creature is a sin?
How will he bear the load
Of "a life lived on sin"?
But he has a daughter of 21
He must marry her off this year,
His old mother cannot live hungry
After the tiring life she has had,
And his sons must study
they have to be different
Not like him who learnt nothing else..
He avoids the questions in his mind,
Spreads his heavy blood stained hand
And asks for MONEY.