Poetry

A futile attempt to go
for a collection spree.
You got only the numbers.
 
It had to happen. The drums were beating.
 
The minority suffers
in the hands of many gods.
 
Between the black
and white, will it be last battle?
 
Temples were asked to
give the details of divine―
winds and the red moons.
 
There was a spiritual conflict,
without giving any purpose.
You cannot dissect
my poems.