Serial Blasts

Crushing the tangerines, 
escalating the dissent 
of lean eyes 
for a slaughter in the trench. 

Unadorned, the little soft 
hole, I watch 
display of hair, 
teeth and shoes. 

Who had conceived 
the invasion? 
Time clock, you need 
a prosthesis to move. 

Dehumanize the littered 
street. This has become the empire 
of death. No crying would 
be allowed under the feet.

Satish Verma