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From Front
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Satish Verma It burrows deeper in the covert
recess of pain, shunning violence of light:
the epicenter of Armageddon,
giving collective death to providence
in a proxy war.
The collasal gossip rests on the river of ashes,
deflects the incredible starved children –
wind blown without geysers, dripping in sweat,
licking the salt lake of damnation.
Cutthroats will come shortly.
Centrifuges are churning uranium in underground
tunnels.Myopia was increasing. In
another garrison germ warfare was getting a shot.
Choked off I still carried the holistic style.
A blockade was sending the sleepers.
Inheritance of lean arms but brave wants,
bares it all.
