A TREE WAS TALKING

He returned empty hands. 
Death was casually running around 
on charred bodies. 

Was lank poetry of a ruthless god. 
The house was on fire after 
selling its children. The days were becoming 
longer than life. 

Casus belli, whom do you want to name 
the culprit, when everybody was fighting 
on a new front? We talk of truth in small 
tablets, in small moments. 

The hills were burning, one after the other. 
Barefoot walking, all mind, mother earth 
don’t go to sleep.

Satish Verma