CRISIS

To drill a hope in the drowned soul 
was very difficult, 
winds had blown away 
the talisman. 

Stress was palpable, 
you could tear the weather with empty hands. 
Mists had walked into the houses 
to pick up the burning cheeks. 

Man was playing with nature 
until death time. 
Stones piled up, 
burning tyres on the road. 

Visionaries were celebrating the all blinds 
day, in an echo chamber_ 
and all the people were standing 
on no-man’s-land for peaceful coexistence.

Satish Verma