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by akash
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Other · #1670908
This is a poem about a man caught between his duty and conscience
A TRAVELER WITH A BLOODY KNIFE
I am a traveler and
I am walking with
Geeta in one hand and a knife in the other
I am walking
As though walking is all I do
They say
I started walking as soon as I was born
I keep walking and
I still have Geeta and knife in my hands
I keep walking and
My hands do their jobs mechanically
Did you know the job of my hand is to kill?
I keep walking and
With my every step
My hands keep killing, murdering
My own Geeta
Geeta becomes bloody
My hands become bloody
I myself become bloody
I keep walking still
In my every step
Every time, again and again
My Geeta is murdered
My hands
Kill every verse, every word
Every letter of Geeta
Still I keep walking
And
Still my hands are carrying geeta and knife
I still go on killing
My hands are becoming bloodier
My hands still carry bloody Geeta and knife
I don’t stop
May be I have known not to stop
I keep walking
But now I possess no more Geeta
Only the knife remains with me
That bloody knife
But I keep walking
And my hands are still mechanically doing their job
Now I myself am being killed
I myself am being bloodied
But I keep walking
Dragging my wounded and bloody body
And
Carrying in my hands
That same bloody knife
Note: Geeta is the holy book of Hindus which was propounded by Lord Krishna to Arjun
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