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


  • diamonddagger

    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.

  • baj-a

    I can only add a ditto to what diamonddagger said :-). very powerful and skillfully written.

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