I’ve bathed in the blood of my heart,
ripped out and torn apart.
I’ve stood in the rain of the storm,
shivering cold to keep me warm.
I’ve bathed in the sea of death,
screaming till I lost my breath.
I’ve eaten the fruit of sin,
overripe mirage of famine.
I’ve bathed in the darkness of patience,
beneath the hooves of the white horse of pestilence.
I’ve seen the insanity of war,
riding the winds of gore.
I’ve bathed in the sadness of love,
falling slow from above.
But all it takes to sort me out in the end,
is a nice long chat with a dear old friend.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar