Poetry

Washed by tears, the flame kindled again.
Crimson magma was quick to engulf
the drops on forehead. Fired from close range
the bullets opened the bloodgates in quick succession.
It should not have happened!
Therefore the journey resumes outside the good
or the evil. The rdx bombs are found at
your doorsteps and you watch helplessly the
murder on dining table.
Are you safe in linens of truth? The lip
gloss of diplomacy will work? The sea
was turbulent and a hijacked trawler was left
on waves with the shot body of captain.
Your hands are trembling on the knobs without
doors. Through the death I perceive a
child crying in the arms of a sobbing galaxy.
There were needles on the road and our
soles were bleeding.


Satish Verma