My Part of the Sin

By Madan G. Gandhi

21st Century

The sight
of broken limbs;
the maimed and dead
brought home
amidst beating of drums.
The shrieks
of babes and women,
of wailing bangles----
the sobs of vermillioned earth.

With every sip of wine,
drink blood
and suffer for my part of the sin.

My timid self is gnawed
by grievous guilt;
no more can I sleep;
pierced by pricks.

Too close,
yet too far,
to the solution:
a convict
counting my crimes
in a lone cell;
a senile,
waiting for the call.

DayPoems Poem No. 2770
<a href="">My Part of the Sin by Madan G. Gandhi</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection,
Timothy Bovee, editor

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