I have dipped my fingers 
in the blood of the victim 
and asked for the version of the surgeon. 

The precocious death? 
Do I need another witness? 
Who was trapped under the fallen tree? 

Only the passer - by was hit 
not the bulldozer 
which comes from the palace. 

After the rain, tortoises will come out, 
parrots will be shot down 
without any qualms. 

Molten lava flows on the thighs. 
I come before the symphony and shout: 
our homes are burning.

Satish Verma


  • baj-a

    powerful strong images created with your words! I can feel sadness and despair in every line.

  • diamonddagger

    very deep and powerful poem. I enjoyed it very much. Well written. have a happy day, diamond

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