The Face In Flames

Satish Verma

Salt-of-the lips. 
You never know, how it hurts 
the bigotry. 

It was not the might 
of divinity, when you sentence 
the child for blasphemy. 

I would not kiss the― 
stone, where the blood stained 
the sun. Grey halo was collapsing. 

It was the helplessness 
of the river, accepting the guilt 
of sunken boat. 

Again I recite your name 
in sleep. The sting was as cruel 
as the tongue.