Poetry

When the hate began
subordinating,
where were you?
O!

My clothes were on fire.
When you climbed the lips,
words were livid on tongue:
beyond the earth and sky,
water and air,
fire!

You stutter?
Speak not truth.
I don’t exist;
my flesh has become food
red meat,
dirty orchid!

I will forget me! !


Satish Verma