22 May, 2018

O, Hunger

It was white genocide.

You travel faster than
the sounds of sun.
I had the heart of moon.

Stay restless,
in the arms of dreams. I
was talking to the vision
of a savior.

Hope in the myths
was fading away. the fire in the
kitchen was spreading behind the grass curtain.

My hands pluck the orange
flames of universal grief.

The spirit won't die.
It lives in the silent prayer.
I will ask the sky
to be benevolent.

The innocent guilt will liberate the man.

Satish Verma

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