At The Hands Of A Friend

I was shot
At the hands of a friend.
And I fell down
To a deep dark end.
There I laid for years
With more fears than tears;
Contemplating the reasons
For the change in the seasons.

Years later still dripping,
I stood up again.
With hope as strong as steel,
That it could never be my friend.
My closing eyes opened
To the face I held so dear.
My heart still refusing
That he is the one near.

As I struggled to stand,
As my life left the land,
Came the burning words,
Even the mightiest bullets feared.
'Yes, its me ', he said,
And without the slightest strain,
He shot me again.

--Pradeep Dhavakumar