Poetry

Instead of pain sublime in body of death
and bracing a hailstorm of bullets
you embrace a white phosphorus
to burn for whole life, as a reminder of

collective suicide. Like my lost children
I am collecting the words to weave a phrase
against the destiny for capturing this moment.
The vast crowd will decide the fate of frigid winter –

to upstage the sun. Barren trees overhear
the wailing winds. Lake of death will outlast
the mirage of inward suffering. Chariot of
Apollo vaults to inconceivable height.


Satish Verma