Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
I chose a man slender and skinny,
draped his body in leather skin of witchcraft black,
pierced his earlobe with beads of silver,
tonsured his scalp with corrugated edge of knife,
sprinkled his cheek with perfumed cologne,
divested his blood of every sedative,
tied him to a square wooden chair with cushioned backrest,
drenched him completely with pure spring water,
aligned him straight so as to face me in the eye,
placing him a good 50 feet away,
gazed through the tiny glass nozzle of my bronze pistol,
to get a proficient crystal clear aim.
i began by placing a large melon on his shaven scalp,
pierced it into flying splinters in the first shot itself.
i then stuck a medium sized apple with sprouting leaf,
closed an eye and ruptured the fruit into infinite segments.
a peeled orange on his head looked blissfully pretty,
was a gruesome sight to witness as poisonous lead ripped through its body.
it was now the turn of a minuscule violet grape,
the handcuffed man looked in growing disbelief,
he was now sure of death fast approaching,
as a loud voice shook the stillness of the jungle air,
the violet grape lay punctured and lifeless on the ground,
shouts of new found joy emanated from his throat,
he then ended our brief encounter by wildly gesticulating,
good shot friend, very good shot.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Good Shot
Good Shot
