by Satish Verma
These were the children of
wrath, the fire god. What I am
watching was a subtle suicide
pact taking on the style of a civil
war among sparrows.
The transmission was offering a
dark vision of future. The skies
were not answering the prayers. The
old lover wants to come back in small
land to forbid the division of hearts.
No resonance comes after the surgical
strike. You remember the sunset on
the mount of your palm. I said, you
will survive all your enemies. I
distil the eyes for the coarse admission.
After all the poem has a meaning.