Death Was Lucky Poem by Satish Verma

I will find another
indigo in you, when you
were linked to exercising talons.

Stealing my moons,
for a rapturous choke,
I was being observed.

A face off begins
on the stage of life, between
wrecked ego and collective guilt.

Thumbs severed off. Ghosts
of war are mushrooming.
A winter crop was becoming rich.

Only god knows, why
singingbirds were silent.
October was not very cool, and
big tears were not flowing.

The unparalleled blood
was becoming thinner.