The lethal bullets of sorrow
Aim at our rosy morrows,
By the cruel devilish FATE,
Push the men through sadness gate.
Cruel death is a helping mate,
Eager to share his blood -filled plate.
The bullet targets our jobs,
Pellet pierces our hopes.
The shrapnel shatters our ties,
The smoke smothers our sighs.
Battered love cries, and dashed dream sobs,
And lo! frail heart quivers to cope.
Some sheds tear dry, some sheds wet,
Blaming tight-lipped heavenly gate.
Some hides their pain in joyous muse,
Some reveals it in word obtuse.
No one is immune to attacks,
Save men trudging on divine tracks.
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
01/05/2009