Concreteness
After the organic death
of soaked breast,
I put up tiny islands of eyes
in spooked water.
The dead were coming back
to live on the terrace
amidst the roses
of roof-garden.
I talk to flowers to end
the war. The light was waiting
behind the hills and
birds were ready to sail.
Were you afraid of mother
earth or roaring sky ?
The corpses are standing in row
to receive the mighty wrath.
Satish Verma
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2013
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