Remembrance

A tribal fear was lurking, behind a surge of emotion. The sun was looking black. A sexual abuse of a quaint flower aborts the fruit. This year we will go hungry. A nascent seed stripped on road- cries for water. We hear without listening. Death by a grave was a domestic claim. But you were found dead in a bunker. Life vows to stand alone on the burning deck- of a turbulent ship. The ocean will find a bloody hand one day. SATISH VERMA