Poetry

A marble calm under the shaky gaze
was parsing the human pain. I would
lift the calculated grief from folded earth.

You feel badly bruised and racial war
becomes anathema. Past the age eyesight dwindles,
cannot identify the faces of dead.

O my God! Bizarred bloated eyes filled
with blood were groping for the fallen walls.
Who had dug the garden with grenades?

A theme hunger separates the hearts. When
desert was the bed for daughters and sons,
the fathers were shaking with hate.

The shine wears off the love. A different world
under the lids. Miracle does not happen.
We were searching for the doors.


Satish Verma