Terrorists
Disowned by their very own race
They have but a disfigured face.
To slay and rob, their deaf feet scurry,
Unto their very ends they do hurry
They stand for what, they do not know
Their camps and tents they do not show
They prod for men with bombs and guns
Prodding their hearts they've seldom done
What do they get? Where is the gain?
Excepting tear-flood, carcass, unhealing pain.
Poem By: Annu Mathew, St.Teresa's College
Photo By: Vivek Vijayan,Doha/Cochin
0 comments:
Post a Comment