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
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