poem"abu"

Poem
Abu

Srinath.S


He was just called Abu, the master of terror,
Killed like a machine without the slightest error,
Walking along on a gray winter day,
Listening to the things his conscience had to say,

Love and pity were strangers in his life,
Had more money than he wanted, faced no strife,
He had killed more people than he cared to think of,
But happiness was gone he had forgotten how to laugh,

His eyes wandered to a van coming swift and fleet,
The driver had not seen the child standing on the street,
Moving so fast like only a trained killer can,
He pushed the child away from the path of the van,

There was a loud thud as the van hit him,
And he lay bleeding, hope of recovery was slim,
Before his eyes flashed his useless, ugly past,
In the face of death he had found happiness at last.