Poetry

Martyr ?

As I sear across the scarred path
Dried leaves part my way
The equilibrium of Heaven
And Hell has been altered.
It is a time for war,
Time for unjustified principles to take place
In its raw and naked state
Justice.
No Goddamn word exists anymore
Another scream. Someone’s sure enjoying this.
What can any man do? But yet,
Gut feeling doesn’t permit me to rest.
Incandescent waves of love and lust encircle dignity.
Faith.Its like electricity.
You can’t see it, but you know when it hits you.
Some parasite has surely taken abode in my skull today
Or else I wouldn’t be acting thus..
But what if?
No. Too soon. Although inevitable, too soon.
My flesh is threadbare and bones oxidized
But why? Why am I fighting this war on my own?
Where are ‘Others’?
The dignified and glorified Others?
Then I realize, like a spark of fire from
A matchstick that is going to be thrown;
They need me. I can’t waste myself.
So I turn, this war’s not mine.
And a blow! Straight on my face.
Blow after blow. It’s not stopping.
Please stop. Don’t kill me. I don’t wanna fight.
Who am I talking to?
I rise. I penetrate. I kill. I win.
But Hell conquers……

 

About the Author

rohan

 Rohan Mukherjee

Ridiculously omnipresent | CEO & Founder of Grayscale Legal | Fellow at The Kairos Society | Percussionist | Doodler | Professional mocker

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