Blood Poem by shreya chatterjee
Blood
Blood is still oozing out from the deep slit…
A sheaved hand,
Few gapping mouth,
There was a blast here…
A duty-bound reporter mutters
Live on the camera…
Blood is pouring out…
The lines have their place
In each and every copy-
-Of Julius Caesar…
A wife has seen the nightmare…
Nothing new to talk about…
Many such unheard wives have seen such dreams
Night after night
Some before the death of their husbands and children,
Some after the fatal loss…
Some like Keats have wondered about the redness…
Some have just whipped it off
-For fresh blood to ooze out.
YOU HAVE WOVEN A REAL PICTURE, IN YOUR POEM IT'S FULL OF TEXTURE. YOU, IN YOUR POEM, SPOT THE BLOOD, WITH BLOOD, TERRORISTS CREATE FLOOD. OUR LIFE IS STAINED WITH TURMOIL, WE SHOULD MAKE THE TERRORIST'S ATTEMPT FOIL. LIFE BECOMES IMMORTAL HONOURABLY, WE REMRMBER OUR SOLDIER POSTHUMOUSLY. YOUR POEM SHOWS A KIND OF DIGNITY, I PRAISE YOUR QUALITY.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 10:35:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
YOU HAVE WOVEN A REAL PICTURE, IN YOUR POEM IT'S FULL OF TEXTURE. YOU, IN YOUR POEM, SPOT THE BLOOD, WITH BLOOD, TERRORISTS CREATE FLOOD. OUR LIFE IS STAINED WITH TURMOIL, WE SHOULD MAKE THE TERRORIST'S ATTEMPT FOIL. LIFE BECOMES IMMORTAL HONOURABLY, WE REMRMBER OUR SOLDIER POSTHUMOUSLY. YOUR POEM SHOWS A KIND OF DIGNITY, I PRAISE YOUR QUALITY.