...

I sat with an old-
distorted copper plate
with gruel upto its brim.
My mother
lean,pale and tired
came beside me and lit the lantern.

I found my Dada
- a fragile Being -
parting little stones from the gruel in the light of lantern
as we had stones rather than rice in it.

It was then I heard
an exploding sound.
Bullets started piercing through my
thatched hut.

Anxiously,
I stepped out of my house.
The rifles were roaming there in 'Khaki' uniforms,
bullets were running down
boring into bodies
and were drinking souls.

                                     
-Sruthi Sara Moses