God Was Bleeding - Poem by Satish Verma
And now the pain wants me to speak,
the words, but I wanted to listen
like winds and keep back the thoughts.
I refused to move from the scene.
God was bleeding
and his dolls were strewn around
on marble floor
No tree was safe now.
The sky had cracked,
off the light. I cannot reach.
The dark thing shoves in,
from a precipice, I am falling,
The pomegranate blossoms?
Where are they?
I am not afraid of a terrorist.
I fear more of the shape
of the humanoid eyes
they are red, very red!
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