What Now

Satish Verma

Locating the perceived 
footprints of moon― 
in my dark house. 

My homegrown precision 
brings the weird 
calligraphy alive. 

Now the execution 
begins in rose beds. Out from 
nowhere come the missing thumbs. 

You kill in broad daylight 
all the dreams of 
feathery morning. I― 

start climbing the 
violence to reach the eye 
of hate and enmity. 

A god a day becomes 
my natural love. Would we be 
meeting daily?