“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun
her words a whisper, to cold blue eyes
but his hand shakes- she has almost won.

the sand is dry and the sky is only sun
it’s quiet – the wind begins its sighs
“namaste” she says – as he holds a gun.

the woman is hidden in black, like nun
the bodies pile ‘round her – rotting – covered in flies
but his hand shakes – she has almost won.

her beautiful onyx hair, forced into a bun
his composure falters, his eyes turn soft, ruining his disguise
“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun.

he curses the sky and sinks to the ground hoping to be numb
he’s become a monster- a killer- one who terrifies
but his hand shakes – she has almost won.

she stands up, gets ready to run
but then puts out her hand- to somehow
sympathize

“namaste” she says- as he holds a gun
but his hand shakes- she has almost won.