Poetry

Was worried about the assault
from inside,
holding the shoes of his sons,
he was trailing the sectarian kill.
Utopia had its own weapons.

I was trying to understand schizophrenia
knifing for peace. Do you think mental
fragmentation would find me on
the door bell of sleep? I was walking
through the hard kisses of death –

on mouth so that I would not speak
about the valley of tears.

Satish Verma