Black Days

Satish Verma

It was a marathon race of 
timeline. The days are bound and shot. 
How do I come to you to express 
my grief of the country 
in tumult! 

In shouting and screaming, 
there was no magic wand to invoke 
peace. Your mouth opens 
and shuts like the shell valves. The 
scollops― words, swim in 
sea of burials. 

The seriality was unconscionable. 
It falls short of a stroke. 
The blood splits. A riot erupts 
to wet the lips of curved razor. 
The sun retreats, to let 
the stars find their sky.