Lying hidden
like a mine,
he waits for
an innocent walker
on a serene path.
He's like a terrorist,
brave, but brainless.
He sharpens
his weapon for
a bloody harvest.
It seems
the whole blood
in the universe
won't quench his thirst.
He forgets himself
in sucking spree.
Others' aches,
he cares never.
Often, his fate's
to end in a bit of salt
or under a boot.
He dissolves in soil,
and ultimate
futility remains.
First published in my book, " Kanoli Kaleidoscope" (PunksWritePoemsPress, US)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem