DREAM

I watch the past crushed
and fake saints rising to reign

exalt cunningness
envision deceit to prosper

a ram rigs the folk
with iron teeth and speaking horns

from the Ganga's bank
immigrant hope and waiting

pushes west-, north-, east-
and southward for net-breaking

new resurrection
beyond the brimming nowhere

I hear the dead dying
angels groaning in the trees

my unscarred body
feels the hand that's blade and guard

ends me like full-stop.
New waves of terror rise high.

the book is opened
but where is the seeing eye?

--R K Singh