Poetry

The smiling god, 
sitting on the throne 
wants the invisible sacrifice. 
 
The sounds of executions 
which should not have happened, 
to please the sovereignty. 
 
The night vision was perfect. 
You can see the roof caved in. 
An old man was collecting the spent shells. 
 
The anguish was writ large 
on the walls of kitchen. 
Smoke still rising from an oven. 
 
What are you going to do today? 
Stargazing? Going after the lust? 
Or feeding the pigeons?