Turn the corner
and you will find, some dark figures
huddled together under the rains
of words. In a fractured
embrace. One chunk of floating
pain falls on you. The assassin
had come quietly.
A song was knifed today.
Turn off the lights. A smeared
moon will rise tonight in earth’s
shadow. Now hashish eaters were
coming, now hashish eaters.
Unnoticed, disconnected,
stinging. From olive to bleeding heads,
poetry to prey.
The koel will not sing tonight.
Satish Verma
