FLESH AND BONES

Signs versus shadows in city 
of reasons burst amnion. 
White cranes manipulate black clouds, 
smudge the nomenclature. 

I want to become deaf 
in grazing blasts. Young lovers 
dance on machetes; nifty wounds 
of red alpines. 

Thieves loot the basket of zodiac, 
death on tall trees. 
Even the grief has enemies, 
for another farewell to sky. 

You could hear the finger tapping 
on the empty belly of little girl 
from the broken childhood, not allowed 
to scream loudly. 

Will the sanity grieve on the charred 
remains of a virgin, in the exiled home 
of a brave truth? Then two little hands 
will thump again in fog?

Satish Verma