Assassin Poem by Golaka Acharya
Assassin
Nowhere was a dot of blood; nowhere
neither in the hands of the assassin,
nor on the nail, nor even on her cloth.
There was no spot on the tip of the knife;
nor on the ground nor even
around my footsteps along the path I took;
there was no trace of blood.
How professional was the assassin
seeing her usual work and the smiling face
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: assassin
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8/26/2026 2:51:55 PM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
