A Riot Story - Tension Finish Poem by Kanwaljit Bhullar

He entered my abode with a face of dread,
Folded hands, feigned confidence, words tremblingly said:
'They approach, fear in their wake! '

Death's terror in his eyes, face's hues shifting,
Seeking permission for a chance at life, uplifting.
A plea in silence, hope for survival to partake.

I pledged to shield him, my capacity declared,
Instructed calm, assurances aired.
Promised to safeguard, no matter the cost.

A specific faith, already in a strife,
Knocking at my door, portending life.
Their fists pounded, intent to exhaust.

Defining humanity, a concept in regret,
Confusion mandatory, an uneasy set.
Presuming they might share my faith, I tried to reset.

The door opened, or did I push?
In the asylum, confusion took the hush.
The stranger trembled, fear within the safety net.

Identifying the visitors, panic etched on our faces,
On the doorstep of death, confined spaces.
The rioters, of a third religion, questioned our embraces.

Inquired of our faith, the defining moment near,
The stranger now breathless, my ally in fear.
Beside my lifeless form, on the floor, we appear.

My soul, in uncertainty, by my body stood,
The stranger's spirit, fearless as it could.
Moments spent, hands entwined, in the aftermath they would.

Departing with laughter, a shared understanding,
'Living bodies may carry religion, a binding.
Riots may claim faith, in chaos finding.

Human beings, wrapped in belief,
Dead bodies, in religious motif.
Graveyards may whisper, an unspoken motif.

But souls, unrestrained, no religious confine,
No need to worry, no tension to twine.'
A profound realization, a finish to the riotous line.