Poetry

Intended to violate
the omnipresent,
stillness unzips the inviolate
truth.

You walk through a legend:
To test the chastity
you need to dip your hand
in a very hot oil.

A sleepless summer night
descends on the hill
violins in dark
lie mutilated.

Hidden tracks will not tell
from where came the pattern
of enemies entering
the bloodied moon.


Satish Verma