Human In Red and His Glory

By Kanika Verma

Battle is its nickname,

War is its first name,

Conflict is its last name,

Interestingly known to be the ‘Jack of Fame’,

Called the human in red,

With an arsenal on the back,

With a sauvignon blanc in the hand,

Known to be the prestidigitator of the world’s gamble,

The test taker of the constitution’s preamble,

The shoulder we lie upon,

When the world shows its cold shoulder,

With the mind of nordic valkyries,

And heart of a kleptomaniac,

He roams in all bivouac,

Disguise himself as the friend of warriors,

Leading them to the path of eternal despair,

Robbing them of their prayers,

Leaving nothing but a little pride to rot inside,

To be trapped inside,

To be trapped in there like in a Lucifer’s paradise,

He walks down the aisle of dead,

On the love carpet of red,

With his amour- propre inflated,

With a deep sigh in his breath,

With the only words in his mouth,

He hailed and he hailed,

My Brethren! My Brethren! My Brethren has won again

Alone he walked on the mortared grounds,

In the choking smog’s, in the gusty winds,

With no doves flying above him,

Till the letters by mother’s found him,

Despaired he may look

Plotzed he may he seem

But he was like Metternich,

For Metternich was like him.

By Kanika Verma