The secret strategy demands commitment and submission.
Somewhere to reach for final destination,
I'm there to study back and forth.,
Of the pages of grandpa's book to disclose the myth-
Of being docile is for the sake of
Yours pride, so that you never feel,
How much pain a trespasser would gain
With variation of space and time,
Only to maintain the line of modesty
And protected purity, of which
Everybody is boasting of.
Yes, I was there, on the border
At the threshold of new state
That has provided me refuge,
Yet never spared to scratch at back.
I was at that time a mere trespasser,
With three pennies in my hand,barefoot
And eyes full of fear., a stomach seeming like the cauldron of curse.
With the burden of guilt and shame,
I've witnessed the gory hands
Which now even can trigger the memories of
Massacre , that has become the epitaph upon
The greatest blunder.. blunders have been reenacted.
For the refugees, neither the hope, nor the
Dream can bring deliverance.
I was there, in the school,
Hiding my identity as a refugee,
Though celebrating rapturously the fiftieth
Years of Indian Independence.
Singing in unison the national anthem.
With attempted smile concealing callousness.
I was there, in your arm,
Looking for sustenance beneath the close hug,
I missed the hints, radiating from the eyes
That would take a trial of my quest for
Womanhood consequently leading to betrayal.
The necessity was there, for you,like
As always. the gripping tale of history
Narrates the fall of the man
On account of woman's desire.
I used to believe too
The billetdoux are real expression of unadulterated
Love, promising the new Eden elsewhere,
Not as a trespasser,but feeling angelic
Both would enter into the realm of
Freedom , silencing the tale
Of narrow escape, that
Has tagged me as trespasser,-
The stigma ,not of mine alone.
I'm now dead, lifeless clod of blood.
Aborted after breathing for six weeks
In the Chaos of uterus.
You wanted to get rid me of,
The "mistake" , committed knowingly.
So it must be omitted from the pages,
Ethics is negotiating the bartering,
With medicine and money.
Compensation will not be granted,
As for unabashed trespasser,
There's no opportunity for solemnity.
The secret strategy demands commitment and submission.
Trespassers will be prosecuted, codified upon the stone of civilization!
Somewhere to reach for final destination,
I'm there to study back and forth.,
Of the pages of grandpa's book to disclose the myth-
Of being docile is for the sake of
Yours pride, so that you never feel,
How much pain a trespasser would gain
With variation of space and time,
Only to maintain the line of modesty
And protected purity, of which
Everybody is boasting of.
Yes, I was there, on the border
At the threshold of new state
That has provided me refuge,
Yet never spared to scratch at back.
I was at that time a mere trespasser,
With three pennies in my hand,barefoot
And eyes full of fear., a stomach seeming like the cauldron of curse.
With the burden of guilt and shame,
I've witnessed the gory hands
Which now even can trigger the memories of
Massacre , that has become the epitaph upon
The greatest blunder.. blunders have been reenacted.
For the refugees, neither the hope, nor the
Dream can bring deliverance.
I was there, in the school,
Hiding my identity as a refugee,
Though celebrating rapturously the fiftieth
Years of Indian Independence.
Singing in unison the national anthem.
With attempted smile concealing callousness.
I was there, in your arm,
Looking for sustenance beneath the close hug,
I missed the hints, radiating from the eyes
That would take a trial of my quest for
Womanhood consequently leading to betrayal.
The necessity was there, for you,like
As always. the gripping tale of history
Narrates the fall of the man
On account of woman's desire.
I used to believe too
The billetdoux are real expression of unadulterated
Love, promising the new Eden elsewhere,
Not as a trespasser,but feeling angelic
Both would enter into the realm of
Freedom , silencing the tale
Of narrow escape, that
Has tagged me as trespasser,-
The stigma ,not of mine alone.
I'm now dead, lifeless clod of blood.
Aborted after breathing for six weeks
In the Chaos of uterus.
You wanted to get rid me of,
The "mistake" , committed knowingly.
So it must be omitted from the pages,
Ethics is negotiating the bartering,
With medicine and money.
Compensation will not be granted,
As for unabashed trespasser,
There's no opportunity for solemnity.
The secret strategy demands commitment and submission.
Trespassers will be prosecuted, codified upon the stone of civilization!
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