The Days Of Agony Poem by Satish Verma

Were you the face of God
in the temple of tooth.
When fire was playing The Return
of the Desert.

I feel cheated, when talking
of nonviolence, when you go for
self-immolation in the
water of straits.

The military boots had failed,
to quench the thirst of dead.
How would you dig the graves
of mauled, tribal gods?

The final mile of human race
comes in the face of triumph
of the death, sharing
the borders of flowing blood.