The Hostage

Under siege,
tied to a bomb- 
you were talking to yourself.

The violence inside you 
had beaten you mercilessly.

The text has dried up. 
Steal a glance-

and find out the blood spots 
on the Mars, the god of war.

The sound in the vase, was becoming louder 
of coins.

Now you will walk-
on my dead body.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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