Murder in the womb

It is a murder most foul
And most unkindest cut of all.
O love don’t slaughter me, 
Even before I see the first ray
A ray of hope and life gay.

Killed even before I come to senses, 
Womb to grave deep by those bloody hands, 
Who brought me here, 
Last laugh on my slaughter, 
For world’ temptations it is all theater.

I am not a wild goose, hunted so ruthlessly.
Communist, socialist, secularist, 
Left and right, 
Hindu, Muslim, Sikh and cross, 
All united in this dross.

No quota of caste, creed and religion, 
All secular in this social justice, 
A great national unity in this slaughter.
A creation of love and fragrance, 
But reserved hate for this hidden star. 

Thoughts vicious, process brutal, 
To pick one and kill one, 
Favorite for social liberation, 
Pretend to opt the best, 
But truly it is the worst.

A curse to our progress, 
For jealous souls it is all theater, 
Again parody of love, 
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast, 
Two pigeons in one nest.

Again theater of absurd, 
And again I am a shuttle cock, 
At the mercy of love dogs, 
Life lost in silent cries, 
O God! Save Oh! Save.


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