The Fourth Bullet Poem by Aniruddha Pathak

Who fired the fourth bullet at him?
It all dim-witted to me seem,
I feel upset listening to this.
Should we at all despoil his peace?
Far too late now this truth to find,
His death though sad is long behind,
And in these years more than three scores,
We've hit enough hurting his cores.
If not caste, community, creed,
If not for electoral need,
Nor if in the name of our poor,
Swearing in his name solemn oath,
We've hit him times and times over,
We're all culprit, talk not of fourth.

Let's not worry about his death,
Enough if we follow his faith.
If we help, thousand blessings win,
Immortal would he live serene.
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Happenings |03.11.2017|