Poetry

Chasing the embedded sex of the moon
you torched the sun
by the stares of dead
and turned yourself into a stone
of steps. For survival?
I knew the gravel, the water
therefore cried inside.

Navigating in swathes of tristesse
makes you insane. Let us split the god
open, and find out the meaning of life.
The missed beats demand more blood, more
slavery. Bivalent limbs become untrue
to heart. I was late in coming.
You too!



Satish Verma