That Boy !

Merrily Was I going that I saw a boy,
Sad was his face, Withered all my joy.
Turning to him I asked him ,”hey “
“Who are you? Your parents? ‘re they?”
“They?” murmured he and paused for a while.
“they no more . Killed in a blood spill.”
His answer shook me from inside.
For his parents were altered in a riotic tide.
With red on his shirt and red on his face,
The boy stood his ground to symbolize disgrace.
“what was his crime? For we punished him !”
“He was wronged for being a ram or a rahim”.
Here I was-the India the mahatma lived for,
And there was the boy-the India he dreamt nor.