Poetry

Cut the masks
and you will find a river of sorrow
in the unblinking eyes.

The mud tears had smeared
the face.

Chimera? The fire breathing
will start a new traction to break
the silent protest of lying lambs.

Impertinence?
For whom you have come to
offer the chador at the shrine?
For whom the houses were burnt down?
For whom the lives of unborn children
were cancelled?
Whose god?

This is not anonymous insurgency.
My name had been written in.
First Informatiom Report.