The Creatures Of Hail Poem by umaprosad das

They are with the human masks, the creatures of hail
Trigger gun out of fun to babies, wretched and frail
Enjoy the groan, cry and moan triggering tare rare ra
Blood bath, source of mirth in brutal hearts, no gain extra
Burn down; joke and frown, throw babies into flame
No value of paltry beasts, the terrorists, as if, so claim
Painful souls, when utter in dole, prick to ooze out blood
Heart rendering loud scream makes the brutes glad
Continue to prick, make them sick and throw them into fire
Before brutes kill, make poor feel torture and pain dire