Is that blood?
Coming out of your eyes,
And your mouth,
And your heart
Where the blade dug in,
A brush at first,
Slowly dug in,
Like a miner,
Finding the prize.
Is that blood,
Gushing out from that wound?
Does it hurt?
Oh of course it does.
The blood gleams crimson,
Like the heart of a fire,
Almost like the devil’s eyes,
It has life,
It breathes.
Is that blood?
On that sword,
That you just pulled out.
It drops down to the ground,
Sand turns to clay,
Red clay,
It smells of metal,
It smells of death,
It smells of war.
Is that blood?
On your wife’s eyes,
Or your son’s
No, that can’t be.
It isn’t red.
They look lost
You were their future,
They were yours.
And now you’re just a picture
A picture on the wall.
The wall that shines,
It is built with the crimson clay
And the not-so red tears,
Your’s,
Your wife’s,
Your son’s,
It shines in the red moon.
The blood moon.
S. Narayanswamy
hi. found your blog on indiblogger. nice post.
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Thanks for stopping by, Nitin. And thanks for the kind words. 🙂
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you are welcome man. all the best for the blogging journey. 🙂
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Nice! Very nice! 😀 Loved it! Flawless victory!
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😀
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