BLOODIED MOUTH

Tonight I lift your eyes from the face 
and paste it on my window. 
Even death cannot claim the space 
reversing the age. 

A bra bomber blows up herself 
in a windowless cell, 
to get her a name on the wall of silence, 
sort of a miracle. 

Roses are in bloom 
perfume of your life. 
Do you take for granted 
a claim for the sun? 

Over to next moon 
I will wait for the night, 
to start a turf war 
for the bloodied mouth.

Satish Verma