Return On D-Day Poem by Satish Verma

Why deceptive retrieve
in a wheelchair
for the fallen?

Was it not a sheer
wrong message
of a space anxiety?

The aboriginal name
was dead in a traffic. What
a choice to breathe its

last in a city of buried
monuments? Vision of inner
city affiliates,

taking questions for
the first time. You
become only a body after the death.

A white rose waits
for a blue sea. The black moon
hovers around the old man.