A NAME OF CLEMENCY

Belief will lynch all the vistas, 
one by one, 
for art of living, 
to break the silence of innocence. 

I will scream, when hurts bruise 
in temporal sleep, 
for man’s hymns of wheeled corpses 
wafting in eternal cliffs of truth – 

being proud strings of a forgotten song 
in the valley of death 
chastening the majesty of scars. 

I will pray for the brief funeral 
of old age, 
I shall not beg for mercy.

Satish Verma