Poetry

seething yet silent in land of outrage:
strictures of life,
my eyes will not see the setting sun;

this was the blind spot
before the battle starts
and spine turns into ramrod in hot sun –

to speak the version of domestic grief
without lips because the death does not come alone,
she has a company

of corpses swelling the earth but she also
plays piano with two fingers only
pouring out milk and venom

for a long journey, we start unprepared
I will not fall asleep



Satish Verma