Bayonet-

War, only war and the war—
I often feel like a defeated warrior.

Broken ribs and shattering jaw,
Spine and neck that crackling flaw.
Have you ever thought
Whose heart you break by hurtful scoff?

These are daily and certain now,
One by one as they fare
The sound of boots floating in the air;
Weeps turn into stone in the chest
A sense of sociality—all that rests.

The war, drags on-
The defeated soldier, a beaten
Again and again...

Shoot me, throw me a bomb
Tear this body apart!

How long? How many times can one die within?
How many rivers dried behind the eyelids...
Can you ever assert?

The warrior, in the North-East of the Bastille,
Bleeding chest—
The bayonet sharpened blade by blade
The sound of boots that only evade.¬¬