Your Half-Open Eyes

Moon dust was sprinkled
once more on mangroves
to extend the war
across the border.

This was an intricate rite
after the sad error, of
changing the itinerary
to pathless liberation.

The violence has spilled
over in the city of roses.
There was no water left
in the turbid estuary.

The herd was coming
to cross the sands of time.

Satish Verma