MOB WAS COMING

The enormous evil pours 
its darkness on streets. 
Violence throws its tentacles. 
Overpowering fear stalks 
and we shrink inside. 
Ancient wounds fester again. 
Our pain knives the clitches and 
suddenly we search for the roots. 

When the centuries fail, 
who will link the dates? 
The spaces in mind 
are thronged by promising tomorrows 
of soft pornography. 
The virus spreads far 
and wide and calender bares the ignobles. 

The mob was coming. 
Windows have new paint. 
We will collectively burn 
the scriptures in the city. 
The deep tunnels hide the debris 
of our broken limbs and shredded belief.

Satish Verma