Hardik Vaidya

Rookie - 314 Points (26 Dec 1969, I won't be dead till you know I am alive. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

Boston Terror Bomb Blasts - Poem by Hardik Vaidya

Limbs torn,
Art of the macabre.
Fresh warm beating hearts shred alive.
Raw, hideous, feast - luncheon of the cannibals.
A son diced, A daughter minced.
A mother boiled, a Father pit roasted.
Spouse cut into julians,
Children? Eaten fresh, on salads as toppings.
They must have tasted sweet, and nicely sour,
Like red cherries with fresh cream of their innocence.
Dressing of crocodile tears.
Decoration of plastic flowers, ghoulish teary ceremonies.
Ambience made ethereal by banal statements,
Room full of blood curdling cold laughter,
Coming from some slaughter house of insanity.
Coming from a place without understanding, without religion.
Without love, without poetry.
My fellow Americans,
We Indians mourn and bleed with you.


Comments about Boston Terror Bomb Blasts by Hardik Vaidya

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Monday, April 15, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, April 16, 2013


[Hata Bildir]