Salt Plunged

Satish Verma

Seizing the fire after hidden sorrow 
predicted the synchronized slaughter of 
the river, bodies were being ditched 
secretly. The sparkle of waves was murderous. 

Blue wings of tall dangers dodged 
between war and hatred. The golden 
face of a child was smeared with blood. 
You carry a moth to be burned on a flame. 

The black rose hangs in balance, 
against the red cross. A sea of white ants 
was entering into a microchip to eat the 
months of prayer. Nation’s crimes were 

pinned for troops to turn the gold 
into dust. Catch my hand if you grieve 
for the lost mother carrying the child 
of century for burial.