I live in a land 
where a thousand barrels 
want my change,
want me to change.

They target me with small pistols
When my dreams are few 
in those magazines, loaded new
Youth being restless 
to follow the trend of skins pierced
Tattoos of clotted blood,
of a clotted thorn, of a clotted rose
Lying dead on a road 
felt like lying with a girl
They get hold of me near my most vulnerable shop
I hand them a bottle
I escape out of range.

They target me with AK – 47s
Actions of a mass murder
The post interrogations 
about who thought his life was greater
and who’s life bled
Building of new townships, reformations of splintered flesh
New kids of freedom, 
playing free in my site of murder
Let these walls be a reason, 
to which my head still remains crucified, somehow hammered to paste
Forgetting of a passing, bullets of my living
Endless gunshots between death 
and its reflection – a young face
I escape with bloodshot eyes
I escape out of range.

They target me with perfect snipers
High profile headshots, without a miss
A wanted man, I have pierced many hearts, seen so much blood
A man of fatal talents, I have been in almost every bed 
I have made corpses, made them sleep, 
I have slept with corpses, almost everywhere
So, they don’t take chances with me
Just one bullet and the revenge won’t hesitate again
Just one bullet, the quickest death
My slow passing, in a life 
where one tries living the final moments of his killing, is spared
They spot me in my busy colony of bonds
Aiming takes time, humans veil me 
Fleshes in tons, protect a fragile heart
They don’t miss, their bullets do, each has his own revenge 
They see their loved one shot dead, right before me
I escape out of range.

At last, they abduct my love
The ransom is me kissing the barrel of a gun
No more risks, no more tricks
No ifs, no buts, a point blank range
As I stand face to face, eye to eye, 
I hold the barrel, place it on my head
and say, I believe in your gun
I had escaped out of range quite earlier
Now I leave a resting place, 
an abandoned cell with its door broken 
where your bullet won’t be a slave anymore
After you are done, try once more, 
to see if I am still alive
The bullet will know, 
how little difference it makes
to stray with someone, in an oblivion.

                                                 ~Daipayan Nair

                                                  Silchar, Assam