Every day I hear rattling bullets
Something else too bleeds
Besides the wailing mother
My ink too weeps
The clouds engulf the stars
The sun cooled its heat
Though some dead rays
Dwelled in my loneliness
Hot angry cruel gun
Pierced the soft child’s chest
Wide eyes gazed the hunter
Then now and again now
Bullets wrote their history
Between hunter and hunt
A bold grief born again
Innocent cries got buried
Deep, deep under the piles of files
Altogether turned into ashes
As if for granted
Till again a sharp bullet
Entered deep in my head
And the page again is printed.

