Unsung Hands
How can you unsee an etched wound ?
The name will tell the moon.
An empty sky now calls for
the rains.
What was it-
the ceremonial farewell ?
A dependable pain now starts
pulling out the sharpnels from the body.
You may call it
meaningless. My poem now
moves between the stings. Somebody
was going for a merciless kill.
Satish Verma
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