NESTLINGS

Coming face to face with hemlock 
you are not able to rain in the animal 
and start climbing the temperamental tree. 

Fathered by innocence of violence 
on the name of war, when were you 
going to kill? Your own progency? 

Slice by slice I am collecting the 
wrath of tinderbox, dry winds 
and volcano for the sake of peace. 

And I hear the night’s arrival 
without moon, without stars. 
The black needles will stitch the wounds of sun.

Satish Verma