Theme: Life


Stealing stones from skinny faces 
snipers scratch the colors 
of a withered moon at night. 

It was anti-rape rally, the footsteps 
falling in unison, the blood running out 
of strange fruits 

and we topple the golden grass under 
the toes, hissing at tall trees who could 
not protect us from descending fog. 

There was no truce. They will not 
lay down the arms on table before 
sun rises to resuscitate. 

The pilot has died on controls. Snarled-up 
fingers will not let go the wheels. 
The pain has no other name.


More By  :  Satish Verma

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