Listening To Rwanda Genocide

In your azure eyes
I was teaching myself:
how to drown. What a nodal
agency to receive the award.

The ailing moon
will not come to my rescue.
The seized cloud had failed
to cry –

embarrassing the sidewalks. An
unfathomable legend.
A bloated name becomes the
mother of rapes.

At stake were all the crutches.
The tribal stain had a stark
reality. The basic instinct,
walks home to stand on the mount of bones.

Satish Verma