For their march of madness

For their march of madness

 (The author wrote it when his father and few other Christian missionaries were ill-treated by some anti-social elements in a small town of North India.)

Sweat in small trickles
Formed around my brows
And a numbness engulfed me

They had come for us finally
My father taken away
Past shadows of uncertainty
By men chanting the name of a god
I could hear their chants, their screams
As I had before
When they had marched
When they had lynched
And showed off to the world
Their love for their nation

While they screamed
I had to wait
While my father wailed
I had to wait
All I could do
Was wait
Within an endless vacuum

And I will keep waiting
Till the country hounds come
And there is no place left to hide
And the catacombs are empty
And when my love rests only as a faint touch
I felt years ago
Then I will present myself to the patriots
For their march of madness
And if there was any justice left
In the land of my fathers
I would die faster
Faster than the last rod
That stood up to strike me

 (The author wrote it when his father and few other Christian missionaries were ill-treated by some anti-social elements in a small town of North India.)

 Jubin Daniel
Jubin runs a travel startup and would love to write verse for a living. Aspiring apologist. He can be reached at jubin.daniel04@gmail.com