Satish Verma
Where The Doors Have Gone
You were afraid of,
unknown, walls pulled down―
you stand in bones.
The surrounding hills―
give a call. Come for the sacrifice
for your transparent limbs.
Unsung, unpraised,
moon will rise tn the woods―
to bring out the victims of rage.
No identification was
needed to wash the bodies.
After death, there was no religion.
Now prayers must begin
to save the weeping earth.
Sky will drop the sun.
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