Stuffed with Iron

It’s been a year since; the terror soared like an evil eagle, hunting its prey, in the city of Mumbai. It’s not buried yet. The ghosts of that day still visit us every night. We’re still haunted. But, this has not made us weak. It has poured courage into our hearts, and the will to fight back. We wish to put a simple, but strong message across. We shall not be silent spectators anymore, the Common Man, is the one who is at peril always. Not anymore, never again. Our Patience has run out. We shall fight back.

This poem goes out to all those who laid their lives and their families. May their soul’s rest in peace.

Tremors. Tremors were what I felt,
Trauma seized me,
And held me captive,
I writhed, writhed, and writhed,
It’s grasp was strong.
It poisoned me,
Tried to bury me deep,
Stuffed me with iron,
Blew my brains out.
Yet, I went on,
Blood flowed.
Flesh burned.
Vision failed.
Thoughts died.
Yet, I went on.
I took them under my wings,
Filled with holes, they were too.
A light filled me then,
Gave me courage.
I went on.
Corked the holes,
Both mine and theirs.
I stood out against the howling wind,
My body died, then, on that day,
But those I sheltered know,
I’m alive.
Where? In their hearts.
Beating, because, mine stopped.

N. Trikala Satya

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