Was it necessary to see,
what you wanted me to see,
when I was keeping open my wound
to hear the unheard scream?
What was that which was getting in air?
A little disjointed time, asking
peace for the land
to stop the moulding on the medallions?
The divide and hate the hate and divide
the kill the kill the kill of mercy
and this was to be believed, not to believe
in the grim fate of the fall.
Pain was you was me was him
the guilt of chewing polluted words
to accept the uncertain,
the naked lies.
Blood was on shirt blood was on sheet
blood was on paper blood was in eyes.
Satish Verma