Hostage

Clutched by the terror
Of the spider’s webbed feet
With the lightly triggered butt
Of the AK-47 rifle on my head,

The rivulets of sweat
Dripping down my face to the ground
Froze even in the high temperature
Of the burning sands.

In my ears rung loud
Even the ticking of the clock
Like the thundering sounds
Of the big temple bell

The bloodcurdling feeling
Of human hostage
For the terror’s demands
Never to-be-fulfilled.

At no second, the nozzle of the rifle
Burst my head into thousands
And shattered around the earth
Fleshes in the pool of blood.

Each flesh in blood is
Craving
The lust
Of revival as a humane.

September 1st.2004

(13 Nepalese workers hijacked and murdered by extremists in Iraq)

by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Other poems of TULADHAR (40)

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