Black and White
The barons had the corn;-
you want to float now,
out-of-the body.
From a distance you watch-
the melodrama and the
pomposity of the marching band.
In fever, the poppies come-
out, unmasked in the
glory of the sun.
The black wood screams in-
pain. Your nakedness was
in jeopardy at trial.
The phallic hills have no-
memory of the fallen stones.
World worships only the ashes.
Satish Verma
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