Veils Have Strings Poem by Satish Verma

The seamstress
fails to stitch the moon,
when it was raining poverty.

Would you come near me,
looking in the eyes of sun?
You should make a move.

There was no god's will
when the truth was being
laid to rest, after it was shot dead.

This grief is not only mine.
You will have to open
the wounds to dignity.

Glamour,
sparkle and show.
It was disgusting.

There was a mass burning.
Blackened and singed
bodies, don't speak.