Satish Verma

Rookie - 762 Points (5-6-1935)

Returning Home


After dispossession,
collecting the dolls─
dusting them off.

Who was watching
you, dousing yourself
to give a political statement?

Cutting the leaves
of grass, I open
the book of Walt Whitman.

This was a targeted
killing. I will not join
the funeral procession.

A mistaken lull.
One day I will─
shoot endlessly.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 13, 2014

Topic of this poem: poem


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