Satish Verma
Pick Up The Dawn
He was not him,
today the day ended with a boom,
had walked aimlessly for hours
in half fear and half hope.
Window filters a new moon. It
burns the pillow, wets the glass,
had he kissed goodbye
to the glass house?
Tired of being a dwarf
bridging the gap between hurts and animus.
The truth was only known to the deported.
Smoldering in the cauldron for years
he was never ripe for the plunge;
his kind refused to cling to straw for ever.
Wanted inner shength to stand
against the shots, to read the illegible words
and pick up the dawn from falling stars.
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