Confrontation

It erupts and then sublimates 
in thirst of response 
from the faraway wholeness of truth. 

Will not be the same 
again this life in motion 
of reverse malignity. 

Lifting the passage from 
script to justify the 
suicidal chair of kingdom. 

Every morning I wake, the 
town weeps for the dead, 
killed by street. 

The grieving mother tolls 
the bell, for each fallen horse. 
Earth, receive your sons in shame.

Satish Verma