Speaking Stones Poem by Satish Verma

When there was a cloudburst―
it was time― I thought
for the soul search.

Again I turn back to―
our complexity, in religion,
caste and lineage.

The prairie was giving―
way, for a volcano to erupt.
Can there be a drive from the back seat?

A prisoner of one's own
follies, you would wait till―
the sky comes down and liberates you.

The illegitimacy bursts
open, when you claim that
no child was left behind.