In a Sombre Mood

Are you sure after the sunset the hunger will find the mouths in black alley ? I go to my ailing land. Stand on a mass grave. No faces, No names. Brother, I am not bickering I am listing on my fingers. Was it possible that we could count the virgins in the town ? Mudslinging starts. Who was not corrupt ? The prevailing conjugation. How you will tell your kid who was your mother ? I become restless, tossing around. A single word shimmers like a blood soaked jewel. I pick it up. A baby poem is born. Satish Verma