a poem by Satish Verma, India

Total seeing, was making him go blind.
He was not here, because he was there,
anywhere, in the mode of anchoring
in void, in midst of horror!

Please do not stop him, do not draw
any analogy. He does not speak about
his journey of gods, crowds, duality
and psychological suicide.

And the dirty murder on road,
of freedom, after slavery of centuries;
glitter of noon an the shaven heads of priests.
Nothing is going to change.

The animal called man. And the
bonfire leaps high, bright and red
in dark sky to mark the victory
on helpless, trembling domes of pragmatic silence.


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