Writer, Poet, Social Commentator
He was wearing a large overcoat
Drops of rains mottled on his throat
He had just this ultimate chance
To seek refuge far in France.
He had planned painstakingly
From known faces, had flee;
Shapeless shadows slipping through dark corners
His last hope to meet, like secret lovers.
He had no choice, he mused
A perfect plan, perfectly fused.
The rain fell harder
His heart racing faster
The wind picked up, taking off his hat
The beggars seeking refuge, hand in mat
This wasn’t the plan he thought.
Then he felt the eyes; he knew he had been caught.
Sirens filled the air as he panicked
The first shot hit his heart as he blackened
Falling and falling knowing he had been betrayed.