IRONY

A severed hand on my shoulder 
wrenches it off. 
You sit on a toadstool 
to measure the depth of grass. 

A raven scans the earth: 
nothing was left to eat. 
The hungry urchins had 
already punctured the garbage can. 

A live show of committing suicide 
will take place tonight. 
To become silent in roaring noises 
was the outcome of a dive. 

A terrorist in pilgrim’s pouch walks past 
a bomb. The wires reach in the schism 
of a faith. Again you cry in your skin 
for sake of a forgotten god.

Satish Verma