What Grammer Poem by Satish Verma
What Grammer
The tremors. One day
I would know. The trees are walking.
No miracle. We are―
becoming rootless.
The fear, was palpable.
Nowhere to go. All the roads
were blocked. The king
is being anointed after the bloodbath.
No logical lie was needed
for targeted killing.
Why did you start the
bonfire near the oil wells?
Friday, September 9, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/25/2024 8:11:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
