Monday, February 22, 2016

Sunil Sharma- Three Poems


It no longer sickens!
Morning, the commuters saw
fresh blood oozing out in a stream
forming a tiny puddle on the harsh concrete.
Drivers/pedestrians took a sudden detour
avoiding the prostrate figure
bleeding, in the final throes of death.
A classic Indian hit-n-run case that no longer registers!
This time, well, it is a street-dog that got hit.
When humans can be left here to die
entrails/organs/tissues raw--- hanging out
and littered across the reddish-pink spot of
the callous murder, a dog dying a slow death,
well, it no longer elicits any quick response or
a call to an emergency number.
Riots, bomb blasts, suicide bombings, massacres.
In an age of incessant TV chatter
we have become immune to blood!

January dusk

Crimson sky
Mild winter wind.
Like an elder parent
Assigned to a corner
Or relegated to the front yard;
Listless, blank-eyed
For an invite.


Running into you
After so long
Is like finding
The old Greek gods
In a gloomy shade
Off the highway from Athens,
Both encounters---thrilling!

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