Trailing War

by Satish Verma

In search of peace
the free hand was inflicting casualties.
The kids were buried like insects in a rubble.

Step by step in speculation
the streets were livid with rustic murals
of splintered blood on walls.

The foxgloves had lobbed rockets
on tall heads. Beleaguered
eyes nailed to fire.

I am watching you my art,
to witness the agony of man.
Burn, burn my cupped hands with snatched words.

08-May-2011

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