Slow Melting

Satish Verma

Trap unplugged, 
There was a hairy assault, 
when you started playing 
the sitar of three strings. 

Though fearless, you 
forget, it was evil, when 
you flew towards 
the sun, to pay homage. 

Your god had failed. I am 
counting the winters. No body 
was left whole. Piecemeal 
you collect the remains of burned outs. 

In Bay of Pigs you stand 
alone amidst the scars 
of invasion. A river upturned, 
an ocean dried, there was left no ship.