The Last Punch

by. Soham Joshi

A demented match began One sunny, yet dark, dismal morning,

The gong was heard and the punches rolled,

A tactful uppercut to the muscular jaw

And a combination of a hook followed by a crafty jab

From the chin to the palpitating, bare chest.

And then suddenly a head-butt, brawny crosses to the head

Abrasively pushing him to the jagged ropes that created

Fine scarlet marks of terror on the calloused back.

 Low blows after low blows, committing horrendous, heinous and bloodcurdling fouls.

An Unmoderated match, with no one to stop, no referees and no judges.

 Red Crimson drawn from the vulnerable parts of the head and wounds cut wide open,

 Blood trickled down the furrows of the face, like tears from the corner of our eyes

 Along with salty droplets of sweat, oozing from every pore of the skin,

 Yet no one stepped up to break it off, no technical knock outs.

Continuing until the last breath of air exits the lungs,

However, it is the innocent civilians and their families that suffer.

The people, nowhere to escape and every corner they turn, a punch awaits.

 The bruises and wounds scar them all,

With death, loss of a loved one, and even a mother separated from her innocent baby.

 Yet there is no one to break it off.

Where are those days of warmth and harmony that united the world peacefully?

Casualties, injuries and lacerations surround us all,

Enticing structures that once stood tall now turned in to rubble and dust.

Destruction has taken over us all like a devil from another world.

 This must immediately cease, or it wouldn’t be long before everything is demolished,

 And carcasses, debris is all that will remain.

There is a need to look back and reflect upon our actions,

And the need to understand that violence is not the path to peace.

 Is everything really fair in love and war?