Poetry

Finally I found myself.
This book of life
had never been the same.

Who had invented God
from the pilfered version?
I say my prayers aggrieved.

Again solitude murmurs.
This twisted world
indulging in phallic worship.

The huge torch in your hand
lights the ugly feet
leaving footprints on dignity.

Blood bath of humming-birds
on the sand dunes of silence.
Children are frightened.

Hungrily I follow the scent.



Satish Verma