Born out of hate 
condemned to fear from each other, 
the race lives, the race dies. 

The loser finds a quotient 
to dig a mass grave 
for innocent paeans. 

My stains were bigger than you. 
In no man’s land, a corpse 
is lying unattended. 

A terrorist strikes in the house 
of god, who will not react 
in the face of a massacre. 

Death will not atone 
the grief of a child, 
whose mother did not come back.

Satish Verma

  • Author: satishverma (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 2nd, 2013 23:03
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 31


  • baj-a

    wow! powerful and poignant and so true it is painful.

  • diamonddagger

    The last three lines were so powerful that they brought tears to my eyes. Great poem.

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