Poetry

Liquidity crunch turns you
into lip slave.
The candlelight bed has the broken legs.
Asleep by the boat you sway in dark.
You are still a number in the books to be fed.
A jigsaw puzzle in the economic boom
starts a jihad. Here I am waiting for you
to start a crusade against the falling stars.
The encounter turns bloody. Shoot out for innocents.
Kids and women, criss-crossing the path of hate.
I was not ready for this disgrace of religion.
The king was making it free below poverty line.
Every wound will be addressed and healed.


Satish Verma