What Now Poem by Satish Verma
What Now
Locating the perceived
footprints of moon―
in my dark house.
My homegrown precision
brings the weird
calligraphy alive.
Now the execution
begins in rose beds. Out from
nowhere come the missing thumbs.
You kill in broad daylight
all the dreams of
feathery morning. I―
start climbing the
violence to reach the eye
of hate and enmity.
A god a day becomes
my natural love. Would we be
meeting daily?
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5/23/2024 11:10:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
An announcement comes echoing through the empty departures hall of the airport: All those wishing to write in chalk on the charred and blackened bones of the dinosaurs can collect a paper crown at the security check-point. My son asks if he should abdicate.