WINDOWS

Sky wept 
when you hanged the young truth 
from a tree. 

A shadow falls 
on the hill 
for a savior. 

A winged flaw 
becomes a legend 
for the sake of a sword. 

A nameless letter 
betrays the will of a cage 
to set the bird free. 

My forehead marks 
the wrinkles of ancestors 
who would not give a name.

Satish Verma