Poetry

Just a sip on verge,
man was eating a mountain,
forgetting carnations.

A peacock sits on the belly
of a torchbearer
for a credible crime.

One Buddha fails today.
Turns around
and goes back to his princess.

Give me blood money
to kill myself
for sitting under a bo tree.

I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home.
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.

Satish Verma