A THOUSAND CUTS

They came out of the shadows -
born out of the devil's lair.

Memories of the past as it goes -

deep wounds and cries filled the air.

An irony born out of hatred and lies -

inflict wounds, scratches and burn.

Pity how radicals dream and tries -

'a final reply' - it is now our turn.

They had no honour, loyalty or grit -

and rejected martyrs of their own.

Now the wheel turned, - we slit -

the cyst in bloom, they had sown.

Thru' 'n' thru' wounded, deep cuts -

and now the lion took its stand.

All stops - the else, ifs and buts

and chase out the snake and its band.

Their nation was born as tumour grew -

with poison to the core opened its fangs.

On rotten marrow they kept up the chew -

fate of innocents on the demon hangs.

Talked of hope and stabbed in the back -

the radical puppets did spill blood.

The wheel now turned full in its track -

their bloody actions will be buried in mud.

PRASENJIT©2025

THE BOOK IN COBWEBS

Let's bring down the old walls

and level the ground as it were.

Take a walk over the past brawls

and walk afar until no more stir.

Some cobwebs in dark memory lanes -

remain in every corner and nook.

The dust of betrayal on us reigns -

from every pages of the closed book.

Unknowingly one turns over old pages -

reliving again the pangs of pain.

Memories keep piling over the ages -

sweeping away dust, goes in vain

PRASENJIT©2025