We are Visitors to a Hunting Castle

We are standing at the giant gates of this

Fortified structure, a hunting ground for

The royalty; they come here in hunter’s garb,

And kill the animals of their choice;

We are neither hunters nor belong to the

Royalty, we only stand to wait and visualize

The spectacle happening inside;

Sometimes, we hear the frightening sounds

Of poor games ready to be killed; the

Hissing gunshots rend the atmosphere, Nonchalantly in a routine manner;

Is there any purpose behind our regular visits

To this nocturnal place? we ask ourselves;

Is this our obsession to witness death in crude

Form or a time pass habit, hard to ignore?

Somewhere lies our secret desire to unravel

The mystery of death lurking in the

Dark recesses of our mind;

The hunters will excel in this murderous sport; Nobody is interested to hear the

Heartrending cries of animals on the run;

We will shake our heads in disapproval,

As usual; we know that we can’t enter the

Safe precincts of this fortified enclosure;

Still we come regularly on the spot, hear the

Tragic stories of successful hunts from

The mouths of the staff and the minions, and

Return back like diffused gunpowder;

We are not the living beings but the

Wounded souls, waiting for the final call.