Anniversary
I begin to fight with me,
needles under the chin.
No pigeons will fly today.
My world lies in ruins.
A terrible lisping piles up on the reliefs
after the onslaught on moon.
Near the black ocean of protests
I cannot hear my own screams.
The windows are shut and air will not confess.
Sailors tilt the boat in powerless fleet,
the dominion of hurricane spreads
far and wide on dust of angels.
My pain gives way to a naked sun;
heat was rising in temples, of pure
death. There is no other song.
Satish Verma
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