Symphony
I have dipped my fingers
in the blood of the victim
and asked for the version of the surgeon.
The precocious death?
Do I need another witness?
Who was trapped under the fallen tree?
Only the passer - by was hit
not the bulldozer
which comes from the palace.
After the rain, tortoises will come out,
parrots will be shot down
without any qualms.
Molten lava flows on the thighs.
I come before the symphony and shout:
our homes are burning.
SATISH VERMA
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
