STRANGERS IN SLEEP

The dome has collapsed. 
You walk in fire on the eve of 
exhuming yourself, picking up 
the pieces of humming life. 


Eye to eye, the patience was wearing 
thin, fears had positioned themselves, 
at the doors, snarling. 
A mass grave was being dug in the distant woods. 

On cloudless hills, a raging sun 
climbs up to send the dust of miracles, 
which never nodded. The faith healers had 
failed on ivory stages. 

The god is ailing with multiple failures. 
Man, are you responsible for this bloodbath 
in coldest weather of earth when grievers 
were frozen in their tracks?

Satish Verma