Poetry

Your genome was climbing down.
I hate to count the steps.

Feathers hurt sometimes
after the end of flying.

How far was the moment of dust?
You were still swimming in saline water.

A collective guilt will pay the price.
Blissfully nothing else was to be done.

On your behalf I will not accept any alms
I was giving it, and I was taking it.

Was it a disaster, a visit from the lake.
My feet were wet and my eyes were wet.


Satish Verma