Poetry

A transient smile lights up a moonless
landscape, catalyzing the woes of
labour of hot arguments. A fragile

peace prevails. When the plot thickens
let me count the bodies in the domain
of a wasted god.

Meanwhile I will get an interim sunless
day to find the mystery of believers.
A bridge had ultimately collapsed.

In the panic room, no image filters.
You continue to draw the nudes of goddesses
and distance yourself from the rubble of axes.

Battle-scarred earth throws up
a severed head of a patriarch
who refused to open his eyes.


Satish Verma