SCALP-HUNTER
When every gesture of peace is a dud,
One sees blood flow like a rowdy flood:
When the single sign of love wanes like the Moon
Tempers are readily frayed on a blazing afternoon:
Hatred is poured into every handy pot to fill
Like a potion, even a mere look suffices to kill:
Man kill man- -on a swagger you lay a fancy bet
Knowing the figures he'll simply shoot and forget:
Numbers do matter when he pulls the trigger
Lest he miss and hear the dreaded snigger:
'Kaafir', 'Infidel'.... each scalp is a coveted one
A variety in color and creed only adds to the fun:
A sang froid that's confirmed with an expression so dour
After all, affirms the dogmatic initiation at the age of four:
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.(C.) . KUMAARA SUKEJA. NOVEMBER.2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem