Lotus blooms only in mud
bleeding wounds do give solace
colour, caste, religion matter not
flag of pride and ownership do.
Nectar and poison drawn
from churning a rouge entity,
for everyone to reap
gruff of a lion is enough for sheep
yet clever is fox in numerous garbs.
Poison of hatred everywhere
drink like Neelkantha*, spare the nectar
for those, who need it the most
heaven is hidden somewhere there
raise the bar there is nothing to fear
your body may be consigned to flames
But not YOU, never ever.
All rights reserved/Tribhawan Kaul
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Comments about this poem (The Martyr by Tribhawan Kaul )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
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