DEATH’S WINGS

Tryst with enemy 
bakes the earth. 
I am standing firm on dust of times 
with rising threat. In vloaks, under the fading 
moon they had come, 
plundered my yard of truth and blackened 
the face of an ancient statue of sun god. 

The terror walks on streets 
sequencing the genome of unborns 
in womb; soot was settling in the lungs 
of windows. Tomorrow night word by word 
memory will be mauled, uncovering 
the pyramids of fear.

Satish Verma