A dive into the mind of the Terrorist. What he goes into his mind , his thought hi felling or numbness. A poem just trying to express that.

 

 

Born under smoke,
Played with fire,
And if you wanna kill someone,
I could fulfill your desire.

I neither get happiness,
nor do I regret.
Of killing someone I know,
Or the one I have never met.

Guns are my attire,
Killing now is fun,
I don’t have a home,
As all I do is run.

I don’t have emos left,
But have a particular hitlist,
I did have a soul,
But now I m a TERRORIST

I don’t feel sorry for those who cry,
As nobody cared when mine had lost,
I m not afraid of consequences I would meet,
As iron not afraid of water after its being wrought.

Hate me, curse me,
As the one who could bless aren’t more,
I have bleed with my eyes,
Now I would cry from yours.

I m bad , Yes I am a moron,
But I wasn’t born this way,
May be some people weren’t the reason,
But mites also get ground with hay.

I know I couldn’t justify,
But I just wanna tell,
All those who have been killed,
Are on their highway to hell.

They were worse than me,
But they were in disguise,
I just take lives whereas
They love to rape others’
Daughters and wives.

For me, My guns scream ,
Their blood cry,
Their family gets depressed,
And soul was lost when innocents died.
Get marry, be happy,
I had a wishlist,
But now all I have ,
Is a gun,

And I m your own-made,
A terrorist…….

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