Plea

He lies grunting,
smeared with blood and dust,
on the battlefield.

You two stare at each other.
Your eyes— dilated, smoky,
And fiercely red; his— defeated, dull, depleted

And full of plea,
as even death refuses
to grant him refuge
from your wrath.

How dreadful one must be
to have even death shudder
at the thought of embracing him.

He is watching you thirstily
as you clench your teeth,
and clasp your fists around the trident,

and is waiting for you to lunge it
in his once ego-swollen, now pain-crushed chest.

He shivers and rolls at your feet,
as you draw the trident back,
fearing that you may change your mind
and let him live.

You laugh,
violently, boisterously, throatily,
nostrils flaring, nose-ring swaying,
unwilling to grant him his
most willed will at this moment: end!

With a wounded ego,
a maligned soul,
a motionless body
and exhausted eyes
he is looking at you longingly
to salve him from this indignity, this humiliation.

O Ma! Relieve him now! Be merciful, O Durga! 

 

~ aviD