Whirled in crimson and decimated in grey,
Distanced and burned in hay.
There I lay in the kindle of death
Chased and killed until the end of my breath.
Neither was I a terrorist nor was I a goon,
For I was a leprotic prune.
Soldier by profession,
Traitor by discussion!
This ‘deadly beast’ was deported to one of the leper houses,
Which had nothing but unteempt number of mouses.
Even though quarantined, we were not spared,
The heinousness of the oppressive colons, blew us charred.
Was it I who deserved the purgatory?
Or was it them who resorted to bigotry?