Prick of Conscience

a poem by Abraham Oommen

The frown on her infant face
Do prick my heart and pierce
It’s no wonder in exclamation
Anguish marked interrogation
Not exciting festive fire works
It’s life taking full bomb blasts
The hurt reflected on her face
Darts fire on their wanton ways
Shielded by piety and politics
A misnomer for these lunatics
Evil blistered her tender hand
Ere embracing her home land
Scattered and deformed corpses
Mascot for their sadistic races
Their actions those are mundane
Brim with vile crafts, inhumane
Her picture in the news print
Left me pricking, a sad imprint
Afflicts me with a burning pain
How I crave for a soothing rain