Crossbow Poem by Tamal Ghosh

Crossbow

A rattle was stethoscoped
And the socio-scholar was rest assured
That death was certain.
Let alone was the question—
A little earlier or later?

A crossbower had shot his bolt,
Pulled the string,
Fired the bolt with amazing velocity
And struck straight the prey
With perfect accuracy.
Two aching fingers were held up
As the upshot was—a triumph.
It felt nice to laugh; for
The crossbolt
Perfectly went through the target's heart.

The kakapo was pottering…
It saw the archer poaching
And anticipated the vicissitudes befalling
But it made no bolt for life
Instead, stood dumb and frozen
As if, the claim of having a ‘bird brain'
And no ‘flying wing'
Would quash blatantly its blame in this shame.
Go, ‘Bull', go
Come, catch and kill them.
For you, always, fingers crossed!