This Evil
Yes, I can see,
I was becoming my father
like the return of sanity,
a lone voice
in Armageddon,
when you feel the guilt.
You say the evil
was crawling everywhere
beyond the eyes and ears.
The trees, the houses, the wombs,
the art, the perfection
crumbling in thick fog.
May be nothing was left for harvesting
in life. Small seeds saved in your
butting pocket, blood smeared,
will bring the rains one day –
and I will meet my counterpart
in the battlefield.
SATISH VERMA
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