Shotgun
It's so easy now, to say "What if?",
After the flower has shriveled cold and stiff.
The rains had come and the seasons did change,
Then the clouds left, leaving everything so strange.
The vanquished stay on, in hope of a martyr,
The heroes died, but they still seek a saviour.
After the cause is lost, after the deed is done,
They still stay on, hoping for someone to come.
To take away the feeling of dread and dispair,
To cut through their blank stare.
To stay and keep them warm at night,
To fight the demons ubiquitous fright.
And in the end, when the hands move,
The clock starts over. They lose.
So what's one more time?
The cuckoo gives out another warning chime.
The story is drawing to a close,
They could have survived. If they only chose.
Instead they chose the easy way,
Played the role of the victim. The prey.
What had to happen, did,
Closed forever, the iron clad lid.
Time can't be wished back,
There is no retracing that track.
The birds are singing, the sun is out,
The mouth is gagged, unable to shout.
Help! They need so much to yell.
Looking at them though you can't even tell.
How someone could come upon such filth,
Covered with it, to the very hilt.
Muffled shouts of hate, anger and pain,
Screaming thoughts of "Why me? Why me again??".
Rahul Jadhav
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