Déjà vu – Samyuktha Raghuraman

It was the neigh of a horse,

It was the call of the bugle for the mass,

It was a jab of pain,

It was a spasm of sprain,

It was the yell for plead,

It was the voice of the greed,

It was the uproar of violence,

It was the deviation of the silence,

It was a break of vow,

It was the stint of sorrow,

‘Twas the sweet taste of revenge.


It was the wrath of the soldier,

It was the rampage of the trembling shoulder,

It was the night of the darkness,

It was the capture of the foolishness,

It was a mosaic of emotion,

It was a twinge of convulsion,

It was the smell of anxiety,

It was a turmoil of the equanimity,

It was a tumult of tranquility,

It was the stamp of the imminent calamity,

‘Twas the sweet taste of revenge.


It was a rhapsody to the brave,

It was nothing anyone could crave,

It was the color of dishevel,

It was the epoch of the gargantuan upheaval,

It was a shade of obliteration,

It was the eon of en-mass demolition,

It was a tremor of trepidation,

It was a sliver of devastation,

It was the death of accomplishment,

It was the milieu of predicament,

‘Twas the sweet taste of revenge.


It was the dawn of the vengeance,

It was the dusk of grievance,

It was the summer of dejection,

It was the winter of conviction,

It was the reign of supremacy,

It was the fall of a legacy,

It was the birth of retribution,

It was the death of acquisition,

Déjà vu

‘Twas the sweet taste of revenge.

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