The Riot Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

The street was deserted, like a desert
Where the hot wind blows from no
Where and beat the faces of traveler

The street lights stand like convicts
Waiting for the noose to be tightened
Around their necks. Shame faced.

The flies whine around the corpse
Lying in the middle of the road.
Head crushed. Slowly getting rotten.
Cars passing with windows shut.

Barrel of guns peep through holes
Of walls made of bricks and stones.
Silence of a graveyard prevails all
Around the town. An empty omen.

Banners are sleeping like hungry
Beggars from the top of poles and
Often feared by night birds roaming
The building tops for flying moths.

The riot is on. At the edge of the
Town a man with beard is killed.
The activist was a drunk and tired.
The morning papers have this news.