Poetry

Walked into the sun,
He. With weak flesh.
A storm was raging on burning sands.

In hollow of his knees
gravel was hitting hard.
He moved onwards in trance

Visionary, homeless, life in open
was blessing.
A huge crowd followed him, voiceless.

Hushed silence breaks the dam.
Valley of timbers was ready to receive the blood,
from epicenter, from fields.


Satish Verma