Broken Armour

Satish Verma

I hear your voice 
coming from within. 
The disconnect, the cultural clash, 
from river, 
from tree, 
from the golden nest. 

The circle was complete, 
breech birth, 
the explicit insult. 

The parched moon― 
will bring the cold 
tears, to extinguish the sparks 
going home. 

The roadway leads 
to nowhere land. You will 
again meet the wounded 
cuckoo which will always sing 
the hurts.