If erupts again –
the eternal hate of caucuses.
A pipe bomb detonates in a gulley.
Death glides as a superman
like a mutiny in the bowl.
Night stumbles against the kissing moon
on the shore of waning hope.
I will not mourn for my color
I am still nursing a grief.
Walking alone in the shadow of walls
to unhear the screams of dawn.
Satish Verma