Greedy rifles blazing, structures turned into grainy ashes
The helpless cry of orphans and estranged family qualms;
The world has indeed turned bloodshed into a celebration,
And shamelessly so flaunts its new bloody rogue shade of red.
Talk about the blood; getting darker with every other dawn tread.
I kneel down, my knees hurt as I do so on the cold cement,
And bow down to the holy ugliness of it all. Palms touching
Head hung low; I cry defeated; sharing the pain of the dead and violated.
“I don’t like this shade of red”, I tell my God the secret.
I see a kid smiling in his death, the grief of his father adamantly clings on to him.
A wife torn apart from her other half; mourning, blaming, cursing her existence.
My secret is safe; terror terrifies me, and God knows that.
I whisper this secret again looking down from the other end of things.
The rifle is heavy as I balance its aim to my target; I don’t like this shade of red.
Reasons fail me as I struggle to blend in with this trending addiction to bleed.
Holding the gun closer to my body, I find a tight grip just like everyone else.
Here I am, one among you, just like you; Donning the dark times, following the creed.
Don’t worry, my secret is safe with God. Is yours?