Trauma of Terror

Wherever eyes go, we sigh to see

Be it a day or hours wee

In the mud we find our knees

Thunderous voice rends the ears

Two little eyes dipped in the ocean of tears

Tender soul is infected with fear

Life is nothing but error

Teeming with trauma of terror.

God made comely creature

Apart from the lovely nature

Man made it a field

With red bloodshed filled.

Life is endless tale of peril

In the hands of the devil

No one wants to take a risk

So the corps takes to frisk

By working on the tips

This time terror is to rip

In the guise of will o’ the wisp.

We feel insulted on being frisked

Irritation reaches its zenith

Earth revolves the feet beneath

To see the baggage and bag

Treated as a piece of rag.

(By: Vivekanand Jha)

Poet and Research Scholar

http://www.v-jha.blogspot.com