Poetry

Looting after the earthquake:
I have wrecked myself
on my own terms.

Bringing down the edifice
of human cult,
the man has come in the
spin of richtor scale.

Why does a crisis tears up the mask
and animal comes out?
An insect will wait for the hidden
dust to settle till dawn.

Along the rim, a glacier
has collided with an iceburg.
Now eyes do not hold water.
It is raining.


Satish Verma