Of Anger and Of love.

He Shouts at the child,
Playing there in the garden.

Words of anger,  speak less
Actions, profound.
He Slaps the child away,
The next day.

He Gives none,
Receives,  none,
He stagnates
With his anger,
In His Strange Manger.

He Dies,
Pale his face,
The Child walked up to his lifeless body,
And Touched his face,
Saw scars,
From wars,
Afar.
Sat for until  the skies closed,
With rain in the air,
He posed,
In Anger,
In his strange manger,
Without a Love to brace,
His Pale white face.
-Anirudh Shankaran.

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