Poetry

In the city of avatars
uncharitable names were cropping up
for wet and wild awards
scripted on lips of unreliable nights.

I wanted to quit archives
of headless soldiers and standing back
wanted to watch a river
of corpses flowing to morgue.

Another blast has killed a dozen
bystanders, who were shopping
for a white chador of peace
from blood-streaked owners.

Become a homosexual to catch up
the wave. Don’t tell, don’t give up.
The birthing of blue moon amidst white stars
will take place shortly



Satish Verma