Poetry

Night was not worth
selling the womb. Biological warheads
were sufficient to take on
the gender eugenesis.
People were busy again, in worshipping
the archaic weapons.

What is holding them together?
The fear of extinction? Or the celiac trauma
depriving them of all the healthy nutrients.
The warrior is dead, only his long nose
is still smelling the foul odors
of hate and strife.

The beetles are coming and the caterpillars,
swarming over the beds. Where will you
sleep now? And beyond was the life wasted,
and darkness. On mantel are standing
the empty frames of future, trying
to hold the lava, back and forth.


Satish Verma