What To Think

Satish Verma

Cruel times, 
and the walls are rising. 
The rivals.Medusae versus columns. 
Snakes for hairs 
opposed to stones. 
The bell shaped body with stinging 

I will not speak. 
This is the gift from the womb of 
evil.The blues. 
Wounded by you. 

The color changes.Sunrise to sunset. 
You stay in sunroom, in dumbness. 
Chilling poverty. 

You shake violently. 
Give me the skin to cover my bones, 
I am bleeding black.You know the tilted moon 
still crying.