SOMETHING KNOCKS OUT

Ceramic memories 
and terracotta pain; 
the injured crypt ultimately got opened. 
At urn burial, the name was absent. A pristine 
ritual for a nameless martyr. 
The sword within him was not used 
and pubescent bomb went unexploded. 

You leave a beautiful war 
glorified by defusing a land mine 
and roadside bomb was dismantled. 
Looking for a blue flame you entered the stone 
house of death, and left the hurt gift. 
The moon will smile again 
when you come back as a bright star. 

The dead potsherd comes alive 
when I dig for your name.

Satish Verma