Dilemma of a terrorist

Bullets to the left of him, bullets to the right,
Bullets in front of him, bullets from behind,
Whizzed and spat.
Yet the boy, refused to be put on the mat.
And kept battling with the country’s black cats.

Cold blooded killer, hounded like rats,
Cornered in a room and bombed by the black cats.
Hundred to one, was the ratio unjustified?
Or did it speak volumes of the lad’s fearsome might?

Driven by hunger, unemployment and abuse.
He enrolled in the holy war and learned to shoot.
Adept at war skills and proud of being called a soldier.
He walked tall, confidence oozing from his posture.

He walked deep inside enemy lines.
Maximum damage was what was in his mind.
Spraying bullets- left, right and centre.
Executing orders, fearless and as cool as a cucumber.

India stood paralysed with fear, till they shot him dead.
Scarred by fire, riddled with bullets, blood oozing from his head.
No burials for him, no one to grieve for his soul.
For the whole world, he was a murderer, a man most foul!!

Coward, Murderer, heaps of scorn rained down on him.
His soul watched the world’s anger, targeted at him.
His soul is sad, it feels the pain. Coz
His valiant fight had earned him neither praise, nor any fame!

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