My dear terrorist - A poem

                                                               

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist

come, slit my throat,

like a slaughter goat,

but expect not

blood to flood

cos its love and love and

love and love that floods.

Love, which u deserved,

yet deprived.

Love of which u were

hungry & thirsty,

and made u take decisions

hasty and nasty.

yes! Its Love that floods in ur blood,

and every drop your mother has shed,

and every drop of milk u were fed.

but expect not

to clench thy thirst,

with thy bloody fists

cos love divine can't be handled in bloody bottles unlike wine.

My dear terrorist, 

My dear terrorist,

come shoot me dead,

to earn your bread.

but expect not your hunger to die

cos hunger dies with thy own death not thy neighbors.