Like pine needles,
you prick, draw blood―
doing the beauty.
Between an angel
and angelina, there stood a wall.
Ah! A religion also.
You are asked
to smear the bone ash on
forehead, and drink moonlight.
Cannibals. All the gods
were cannibals, devouring
their progeny.
You turn back and
give a last glance before
going for a faux pas.
Not a heartache―
for a faun, you were too
proud to accept the gift.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Amazing expression. It reflects the anguish of a man who is concerned with killings and spilling of blood of innocent children, women and men in the world today. Thanks, Verma ji. Cannibals. All the gods were cannibals, devouring.... their progeny.