Arrogance

Sometimes it pours like hot
drips of melted wax from a candlestick;
your migraine.

I wanted armistice.
Untangle the lies,
I am not in your firing line.

The tulips in the barrel of your gun
cannot forgive the bullets.
There will be no ceremony after the funeral.

Give a slice of blue departure
of moon to light the beach,
there was a brutal murder on the lake

among the muffled waves of protest
in the home of insanes, who were
praying for the sun to return.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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