Satish Verma
Raging Spring
Siblings
will take care of the morgue.
I am going to hang my god
today. Howling winds
are crashing into my breath.
In the sea
of flags, the white death walks on
naked bodies of faith. Innocence
will take a back seat
listening to the roaring assault
of blues.
Was it a hymn to drink
the religion of rage?
The men sitting in the glass vases
worshiping the rising sun in awe
with folded hands.
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