Poetry

A skylight begins the apartheid
in ironed out differences.
At the shores skulls have reappeared.

Blue flames were eating away the green carbon
of the dying giants. Fake photosynthesis
was canning the skimmed breeze in books

and encapsulated euthanasia was available
over the counters. Eyeshadows were hiding
the dying grace. Tempest would go for a classical dance

only. Counting of heads had begun. Price hike
of black arrows would decide the fate of a nation.
Hunger was writ large on cheekbones of

roaming rocks, shining the landscapes.
The chorus spreads like eau de cologne
over the solitude of my homeland.


Satish Verma