Dirt Roads

It was a mediocre crowd.
You wanted to touch-
unblemished,
ordinary thing.

After he was drunk
he threw the blanket
and started,
a hate crime.

There was dark smoke
without fire. You can draw
a frame around the singed face.
I will not taste the blood.

The death will come again
to find the lover, after he
jumped from the bridge. There
were thousand ways to seek revenge.

Satish Verma