Bullets never know why they are fired
They are just spurted out
They know the accuracy and the speed
They know how to rip apart the tissues they seize
The zinc alloys just blend with the blood vessels
They are indeed loyal to their purpose
But the fingers that triggers those bullets
feel the surge of their arteries within!
May be, the face that belongs to the fingers is colourless.
But the bullets are shot nonetheless,
urging a nonchalant and irrational rebellion to believe
their cause is served…
But when scruples prick even death is appalling!
And so prolongs the game of real and feigned self- treachery….
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