To hide the face behind that mask,
he lost his sense of gentleness and pride.
To adorn the newly found face with lies,
he nurtured his ego and lost his stride.
He killed men of war and he wore his rage as feathers
without embracing the essence of love and bonds.
He put down his shield of wisdom he feared
and he let down his bloody push of reason in head.
Why did he choose all those masks of shame?
and why did he wear it in the resonating instances of fame?
Did the touch of grenades and guns in his hands
made him someone else that the presence can’t withstand?
Where did he cultivate that lust of blood and flesh?
Does it really take him to the paradise of satisfactory rush?
Does the grin in his face while he rips out a soul
covers the gloom and sorrow of the lives he raped?
Nowhere to go and no heaven to be
the mask he wore made him a devil on a murdering spree.
For all he murdered was himself and his race
and all the beauty that life gave him. What a disgrace!