Naxal Slaughterer

Think about the time and age,

Else, a good number disease breeds.

You revolutionary of death and hate!

You have become a slaughterer,

But feign like protector and fighter,

And at once got hundreds of marauder,

In your brutal command.

In revolution,

You look the pleasure of the toxic flesh.

You feel no shame to mutilate,

Even on the corpse of dead challenger,

This brand of revolution,

You are bound to rot with worst pain,

Due to the sighs of innocent’s blood.

,

A burly storm sets in the air,

Delivering the message of,

Your sins and brutality;

Across the country and oceans;

Every rule of your’s,

Throw back the nation a century in time,

Where bloodbath is your religion.

Revolution is another name,

For the despotic rule.

I am a virgin soul,

Raped and repressed even after crosses death,

Every time you pull me out of my pyre and rape me,

Your book of comrades and revolution,

Always covered in a condom.