Pride Of Valley


When the battle lines were drawn,
the only mandate
for the human torpedo was to blow up
the silence of time.

Sick was the death-struck
new born, praise of the ghost of tiger
in the name of glory of green eyes.
The orange moon was absolutely naked;

the snow dripped in a cave to form a cone
and the valley was burning wide.
The bag of charcoal given
to a shepherd had turned into gold-

nuggets at home. The vultured sky
was claiming more bodies.
A miracle was swelling the crowd
and the crown was proud of deaths.

Satish Verma

Tags: | Category: Life Poems

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