After Serial Blasts To Make A Point

Satish Verma

After seeding the clouds 
they were going to buy wet lips. 

Seven minutes to make a bomb: 
a micro-chip, ammonium nitrate and a circuit, 
one headless body squirts a long jet of blood. 

Run, run for the cover, with nuggets of 
wailing times. Black walls intercept the flames. 
A nimbus suspends the door. 

Cryptic commands fail. A body sprawls 
on payment for wheels to move. You 
hand me a child to find his bilolgical mother. 

A long manifesto makes the cadaver shrink. 
Clocks spin in frenzy. Mirrored people 
look like ghosts. A city burns.