Papa brings you
This time
Not a bag full of gift
But a bag of grief
Filled with full of
Field fresh body parts
Collected from the
Grounds of battle
And you
You will be failed
If you try and find
The race in the limps
That scattered
On the grounds
The hands
That nourished
The tender limps
With love and oil
Squeezes its hearts
In grief and pain
Papa will bring you
The grief and pain
Of the hands that
Nourished with love and oil
And field fresh body parts
Collected from the
Grounds of battle
S.JeyasankarDecember 2008
