Poetry

When God kings come― 
down stealthly, 
it is your waking time. 
 
You had never counted the awards. 
Refrained from watching the oblation. 
When blood pooled on 
the floor, you were holding 
a love child of moon 
and earth. 
 
Do you think a collateral 
damage will ensue, when you 
chart out the trajectory of missiles? 
 
The incredible ink will not 
go dry on the tongue, when you 
read a ghazal of indomitable 
pen. 
 
Today I climb a red 
mountain to know my height.