satishverma

FROZEN

After dousing the bride to a nice flame, 
in between the howls 
there were songs. 

On mud path the hoofprints 
came out prominently. On bullock carts 
they had come for a sit in, 

to resist, rebel or kill. 
All day the heat, dust & winds 
blurred the vision. 

Hills between us 
to feed the hate. 
It is nothing like the good old earth. 

The nascent bleed. 
Time of non-movement. 
Shadows of snow-peaks.

Satish Verma