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My Part of the Sin
By Madan G. Gandhi
21st CenturyThe 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
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