Poetry

After running for the flesh,
why did you make a home for the death?
Was it a reverence
for buying the peace?

Or fear of uncertainty
and suspense in the bosom of pain?
The panther was only thirsty, there was
no need to shoot him.

I will fight the war
on my own terms, in defence of liberation.
In moment of defeat, there
will be celebration of truth for homage to a truce.


Give me some reason to die.


Satish Verma