Tuesday, December 23, 2008



The militant closed his eyes,

Set his courage on board,

Little strength did he hoard,

A skeleton in the cupboard;

Busting down the door,

The vanquisher of vice,

No reluctance to sacrifice,

His hesitation in disguise;

One look at the locket:

Devoted sister,

Prodigious son,

Mother, smiling serene;

A kiss from his wife,

The love of his life,

Soothing shoulder to lean;

Flashed on the split-screen…

Shining dark sheen…

Locker opens,

Coupled guns fire,

Expression of incompatible ire;

Taking the shot to the

Middle of his head,

The Martyr drops dead…

Father fate has had

his share of fun,

His double deed for

the day was done,

Patriotism was his sin,

As was his religion!

It’s not that their

faith is a lie;

Above the tragedy,

hovers an irony

that Martyrs

are meant to die…

No use was the flash on the screen…

Especially when it shone

Nothing more than dark sheen!

Even when the

locker opened,

And coupled guns fired,

Mutual deaths they never desired;

Nor does the bullet know

Whom it’s gonna kill,

Whose blood it’s gonna spill…

No righteous end

does this signify!

Above this malady

is outrageous mockery

that Martyrs

are meant to die…

Why should they die?

The heavenly dove,

Of brotherly love,

Was it sold with nothing to buy?


Are they meant to die…?

One soul asked another,

“Why did this happen, brother?

Why did we have to die?”

“Will the worldly weather,

Allow us to be together?”

was the gentle reply…


They prefer to die…

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