TRIGGER POINT

A missile in the home, 
what they have done? 
You are on flames. 

A red smoke rises 
from bottomless hole. 
Memory slumps. 

A glow in pain washed 
cells, calls the mirror. 
Instead, grave diggers arrive. 

This was the manufactured truth 
of the eternal kiss 
of death. I stretch my arms 

to feel the terror. 
The walls start crying. 
There was no roof.

Satish Verma