The Next Wall

by Satish Verma

The whispering voices
laid down the arms on the skull of the leader,
father of pain, then asked the guns to fire
a last volley towards home

Targeting the prudence of fingernails
who crossed the gap
seventy thousand years ago,
the progenitors with exposed genitalia:

The dead man’s mouth was full of
secrets, my god, they were frozen pistons
of sugar, face bloated of pride,
absolutely white,

The skin had been very kind
a pink shade of poetry, you deliver
a rose for unnamed soldier
I break the windows and mirrors

21-Feb-2011

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