Killing Zone

Killing Zone short poem

Photo by kateausburn


If you walk straight under the
shadow of moon, to the salt lake
death will blow a long whistle.
Everything was ruined in war of words.

There was no peace in the heart,
even after meditation, the mind
drove for the flesh, caressing neither
blameless womb nor Oedipus.

The dead forefathers goad the hypocrisy
till the blood spurts out from
the black navel of centuries
and the forgiveness stands naked.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Satish Verma
Satish Verma is ferociously original. You feel resentment, outrage and violence, cannot pin it down but wonderfully spin your brain. Satish has the greatest sensibility which sweetly exploits the delicacies of human conflicts. You are taken aback. This is magic, profoundly soulful. In a lone, long journey Satish Verma is still discovering himself. Beaten, betrayed, felled, he comes back with fierce velocity. His childhood was traumatized by India’s partition. Terror, violence and death were witnessed which built the morals of poet. Becoming defiantly recluse Satish Verma pursued his value based life on the path of truth. Teaching Botany for 35 years he was writing poetry, privately and solemnly and published twelve collections. Worked silently with social causes. His scions, doctors and engineers are living in USA. He chose to live back in his beloved country and resides in Ajmer (INDIA) with his spouse Kanta running the Charitable Holistic Institute of SEWA MANDIR FOUNDATION. He can also be reached at kantasatish@gmail.com. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

1 Comment on "Killing Zone"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Aloke
Member

A particular world-view expressed well. Consummate skill over the language.

wpDiscuz

Epic Zone

Morning came and dreams walked out, A savage life was knocking my door With harsh iron hands holding an unpalatable casket Loading grey flowers of troubles having colorful multitudes Immaterial my blinking desire, my aversion and perturb It ran in

The Twilight Zone

The Twilight Zone short poem

The day bleeds slowly, blots across the blackening sky, red drips into the nothingness, darkness overpowers the light; I fly back to my lonely nest, hunted by the crescent moon, only the stars offer me sight, I long to be