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Phoenix

Updated on July 11, 2017
The choices you make, and those you forsake
The choices you make, and those you forsake | Source

A Phoenix, wallops in sand

Wrestling, all shackles we bound

Follows, a deafening sound

Earth, spins around


Blue, this beautiful sky, the rain, about to cry

Teardrops, emerge on ground

For those souls, which were lost, and never found


Dust, that settled, starts to clear

The Phoenix, orbits without fear

Comes across, a deer

Considers it, a peer

“The post, the pinnacle, the pioneer”

No roads, left to steer


The deer, looks in awe

Remembers, what once, he saw

“Lurking”, beyond the mounds

A hunter, doing his rounds

The “hunted”, well within, his bounds

The hunter, draws, his gun

“Winks”, at his beloved son


Aims, in the distant willow

Loads his magazine, “by the kilo”

The son, looks distraught

“Paa, I hear footsteps trot”

The hunter, settles his chin

Aims hard, harder his grin


“To kill tonight, is to win”

The sinner, loves his sin


The hunter, about to shoot

His son, witnessing a murder, mute


The son, innocent, yet wry

A tender age, he will not cry

Holds back, his nimble stance

Gives “Daddy”, a benevolent glance

Utters a prayer, for death stands, in way

For his father, this is just another day


As he fires, that “good old gun”

The deer, about to run

“A flash. A crash. A scream”.

Death arrives, begins, another dream


The hunter, silent in shock

The “game” is safe, runs to its flock

Yet he smells blood, tightens, both ears

Looks at his son, wounded bloody, in tears


A gash in one leg, the bullet, in another

The child, about to drop dead, a bloodied red, wishes to see his mother

The hunter, maps the ground. He wonders, “How did my bullet rebound?”


The deer, gallops past, breaks the Hunter’s "fast"

His child, dismembered, the hunter, watches aghast

Vengeance is served, to avenge all, at last

No logic applies. The hunter tries

The hunter tries, the hunter cries


A creature, emerges in front

The hunter, sizes it up, head to toe

The hunter wonders, “Is it a friend, or a foe?”

The creature, smiles. “What does he know?”


The caged, at last, finally "let loose"

The hunter, becomes the hunted, the gunman, becomes the goose

Dashes towards the jeep, his boy's body, vanishes, nowhere to be found


Earth spins around

Follows, a deafening sound

A Phoenix, wallops in sand

Never to be seen, ever upon this land


Blue, this beautiful sky, the rain, about to cry

Teardrops, emerge on ground

For those souls, which were lost, and never found

© 2017 Nikhil Chopra

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    • Nikhil Chopra profile image
      Author

      Nikhil Chopra 5 weeks ago from New Delhi, India

      Jay C Obrien, it indeed does. Grace is all we crave, from the cradle to the grave.

    • Jay C OBrien profile image

      Jay C OBrien 6 weeks ago from Houston, TX USA

      Condemn not, for as you condemn you will be condemned by the same measure.

      Forgive to be forgiven. Grace trumps Karma.