Satish Verma

Gold fringed, the hood 
strikes. You are bound 
to throne. 

It was unnatural to 
demolish the ancient shrine. 
God will not show his face. 

And what about the dew 
collecting on grass leaves, 
when you were crying? 

The kids won't cry now. 
The hunger has put 
them to sleep. 

It was the dead end 
now. You are melting in 
great walls.