The Brightened Fire

Tonight sleep was not coming to me. Tears had washed the splinters out of the bruised eyes. It was becoming extremely hard to pulversize the legacy, the tendrils of violence. Wrapped in white shrouds the bodies were laid out on the grass. The pearly sunlight was ready to give anything for a name. The pitted legs, the shattered bones, black moles of the final darkness. Descending on the battle ground, parched throats licking up the dew from the mute bodies of ancestors. I would eat death, shapeless, as blunt questions, as medallions. Millions of years will be ready to make out the fossils of time machines. Are not the pinnacles of snow shining on the mountains of silent hate ? You keep the windows open, so that the blasts does not shatter the glass. When this calamity will end ? The new born babies are thrown out on heaps of garbage, bloody rags of unhinged bloughs. A hunch-backed god was tottering on the broken planks. SATISH VERMA