After dousing the bride to a nice flame,
in between the howls
there were songs.
On mud path the hoofprints
came out prominently. On bullock carts
they had come for a sit in,
to resist, rebel or kill.
All day the heat, dust & winds
blurred the vision.
Hills between us
to feed the hate.
It is nothing like the good old earth.
The nascent bleed.
Time of non-movement.
Shadows of snow-peaks.
Satish Verma
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: March 13th, 2013 22:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 42
Offline)
Comments2
you have such a beautiful way with words. I love the imagery of your work. to resist, rebel or kill....very powerful words. Very powerful poem. Enjoyed, have a happy day.
I can only add a ditto to what diamonddagger said :-). very powerful and skillfully written.
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