SANJAY KUMAR SINGH

If ever I die,
That will only be a reprieve,
For I shall walk again and again
In mystifying forms of Life.
...

You say you love me,
But I warn you against it,
You make a face,
Say I am depraved.
...

I could not take your call,
My grief is still such a wall,
I read the message you sent,
And wondered what it meant,
...

I have washed it so, but it doesn't go,
The blood remains, thick and heavy,
Sticking as it does, on hands of many,
Blood on hands in prayer raised,
...

In the quiet evening sky,
It glided gracefully high,
In silver and gold hue,
As the day passed through.
...

You the warmonger,
Even the devil turns his head aside,
And steadfastly refuses to ascribe
To the horrors you prescribe.
...