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The sight
Of broken limbs;
The maimed and dead
Brought home
Amidst beating of drums.
The shrieks
Of babes and women,
Of wailing bangles----
The sobs of vermillioned earth.
With every sip of wine,
Drink blood
And suffer for my part of the sin.
My timid self is gnawed
By grievous guilt;
No more can I sleep;
Pierced by pricks.
Too close,
Yet too far,
To the solution:
A convict
Counting my crimes
In a lone cell;
A senile,
Waiting for the call.
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Yayati Madan G. Gandhi
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