It is.
An explosive denial
of an infinite firmness
of round orbs.

Why were you taking
off your shirt
to show the scars?
it stirs a sequestered allegation.

The glare was on my days
and your nights.
The suicide bomber was
a kid, you know.

When a poem leaves you,
how far would you go to kill
a blue jay
for the golden cage?

Satish Verma