Questions to a metal

Suppose
one day
early in the morning
Moon knocks your door
and asks
'did the moon light
glittering last night
soothe your soul?'

Suppose one day
while you are crossing a busy lane
soot and dust smearing your collar
a Flower springs up
and asks you
'isn't my gentle fragrance better than this-
did you enjoy it last sunday in the park
kissing your beloved
didn't you feel me deep somewhere
inside you?'

Suppose one day
you busy in your office
cramped in piles
of data and files
a cuckoo comes
'I woke you yesterday
when your alarm didn't work
wasn't it sweet?'

You will think I have gone crazy
the moon , the flower, the cuckoo
shall never ask
how much we love them
or betray.

But
I have a question to ask
I ask
the
hard, tough, heavy metallic bullet
Were you hurt
when you got hit on a man's living flesh?
Were there any painful scratches when
piercing the head you sped?
Squeezed inside the dead lump
blood clotted around
did you feel suffocated?
Do you remember the hands which fired you?
(they might have got their share back!)
Can you distinguish between
the hands which fired you and
the hands which scratched you up from mud and earth?

The moon, the flower, the cuckoo
will never ask a question.
But I ask you questions
O heavy metal:
Would you refuse?

-LP