The Plan

a poem by Arjie Barjie

The deceptive plan
Hangs in the balance
In his dying hour of need
No burial, no grave to grieve

A perfect execution leaves no trace of the deed
Only a widower pleading to be killed
In a cemetery of solitude
With none but the priest

A man’s demise
Subterfuge in disguise
A tool of war
For the political enterprise