He was not him,
today the day ended with a boom,
had walked aimlessly for hours
in half fear and half hope.
Window filters a new moon. It
burns the pillow, wets the glass,
had he kissed goodbye
to the glass house?
Tired of being a dwarf
bridging the gap between hurts and animus.
The truth was only known to the deported.
Smoldering in the cauldron for years
he was never ripe for the plunge;
his kind refused to cling to straw for ever.
Wanted inner shength to stand
against the shots, to read the illegible words
and pick up the dawn from falling stars.
Satish Verma
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