Nandigram

The Peace Officer is mendacious,


She did not die.

She was ceased to exist.

She is twelve.



There were people half exposed

There was no hut to veil

There was green about

But she could find nothing to have.



She was behind the eight ball

She never learnt to read

She enjoyed asinine adventures

On the grubby roads towards the light.



She was twelve, could not catch the letters

She did not discern the “Why?”

She stepped with her mother when

Bloods claimed the color of prairie.



They were calculated to be flaccid

They lost the green, the feebly existed huts

There cannot be a worse than the worst

But they lost across the board.



She never played with toys

Till she was coerced to touch the howitzer

She felt her father’s last breathe

To keep the hut that almost dwindled.



Bloods were bagging the azure

Count was getting less in the huts

She coalesced with them like her father

She was twelve, she took on the Gun.



Tears were crystal in the rainless day

She did not die.

She was encountered by the system
She was only twelve then.