Do not wake me up
I am sleepwalking in the courtyard of muse.
Tenderly the moon is slicing the clouds.
I am fashioning anguish on the dark
green leaves, to bring forth a red flower,
as a hope of dawn.
I must share a secret grief with you.
The cruel city is indulging in foeticide.
They are lifting the god from the temples
and shatering his image.
I want to remain deaf, dump and blind
and write this poem on the bleeding
heart of a mother.
SATISH VERMA
