Furious Wounds

by Satish Verma

A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.

The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams?

Do you see the gap
between the clouds?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.

Flesh-eaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.

A baby dies in womb
without a leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.

A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.

15-Feb-2013

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