Deeply Scarred
There was no sky over your
head. You sidestep the lake
and drown in a stream.
After carpet bombing of
scars, you missed the moon
and skimmed by
virtue of birth.
Lifting the stony vices
for thanksgiving. A puppet-
dies on a string. Nobody
claims the body.
Mistrust runs deep. You
will not ride the tiger-
again. The urn contains the
ashes of blue eyes.
Satish Verma
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