BLEEDING DAY

Bilobed ginkgo resolves the conflict 
of soul and body on the right side of truth, 
laid out on a table visited by desolation; 
here comes the crash of bodies. 

You stand up against the end of beginning 
to lock eyes with destiny, answer obliquely 
to raw questions about the baking in plastic 
cauldrons, when heat was rising in blue veins. 

Engulfed in fumes of muscular words, resonant 
with agitation of black banners at the door; 
who will stop the sea of whispering veils 
defying the shower of bullets coming from windows. 

They were out in black night, impoverished, 
burning inside, in grass green mud, covering 
the ornate faces. Folks dissipating 
on blunt shades, your sun outraged. 

Six steps to reach the house, you take 
six hours. It was naked and desperate aggression.

Satish Verma