The Rope

Dark and dusty,
The Farms,
Despair and travesty
Their only qualms.

The rope it hangs high,
Below the politicians pride
Before you get to know why
We’re all part of this genocide.

Sullen and aloof ,
The crops, dry, die.
Dies of hunger
His family, begotten
Recipients of this war.
-Anirudh Shankaran.

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