Blocking sun rise,
the building
on the other side of the divide,
smoldering,
wrecked into rubble,
was just inexplicable
to my infant eyes,
peeping through
the bullet hole,
wondering
why the smoke would not stop
even after a week,
since the day
it was torpedoed
right from the top
of the building we lived in,
and all of us had
danced to the music
of those trapped screams
watching the licking,
oozing conflagration
of the mighty enemy
housed in it,
bent on
conquering us,
to unify our lands
into their fiefdom
they call nation
and then to
exterminate us,
the secessionists,
they call militia.
by Ramakant Pande
