In a death-trap of a stadium,
as if I am stoned to death.
Chrysanthemums bloomed in vain.
On your body three beasts climbed
for ravaging a fawn.
The rape was only your fault,
you had to die.
When a crowd of thousand bystanders
came to watch your mutilated body,
you had left for home,
uncrying and bleeding.
A human soul,
undefended.
Now a script will be protected.
Stones leap to praise the ghosts.
SATISH VERMA
In a death-trap of a stadium,
as if I am stoned to death.
Chrysanthemums bloomed in vain.
On your body three beasts climbed
for ravaging a fawn.
The rape was only your fault,
you had to die.
When a crowd of thousand bystanders
came to watch your mutilated body,
you had left for home,
uncrying and bleeding.
A human soul,
undefended.
Now a script will be protected.
Stones leap to praise the ghosts.
SATISH VERMA
Wanted to wear the grief uncrying,
sitting on the bank, counting the waves,
watching the swaying of earthen lamps.
There was a little water on the moon,
charged atoms settling in the lap of a sponge.
The water becomes the moon,
floating on goat’s milk.
My descent starts to find the truth.
Where the water has gone from the eyes ?
The mirrors always tell the lie.
The headless body writhes in the dust,
words change the author of a murder.
A crowd finds a knife only.
Once again a century weeps !
Satish Verma