Poetry

Will you tell me what it was
the unknown of the known?
When you step into the eyes of stangers
you start talking without uttering a single word.

Give me back the body,
of dark pink matter
to understand the god’s will.
He was sitting in field of sugarcane.

The petrol burns with hate
in the necks of panthers.
Tiger, tiger I look at my son coming back
after encounter.

The bleeding revolution has overturned
tomorrow. No body knows where we are heading.
The babies flick like tender candles
inside the saints.


Satish Verma