Poetry

In a death-trap of a stadium,
as if I am stoned to death.
Chrysanthemums bloomed in vain.

On your body three beasts climbed
for ravaging a fawn.
The rape was only your fault,
you had to die.

When a crowd of thousand bystanders
came to watch your mutilated body,
you had left for home,
uncrying and bleeding.

A human soul,
undefended.
Now a script will be protected.

Stones leap to praise the ghosts.

Satish Verma