Poetry

Bending the fluid anger, it was coming: from
anthills to natural selection, the sexual drive of a violenne;

invasive, brutal, the testosterone chasing wet thighs,
the night sweats. Kleptomania rising; castration

or helium filled masks for assisting suicides were
mutilating genes. Multiasking for eugenics? Hate and revenge

hangs a body on the turret of a tank, a wrong
for wrong. A little crown, winged pollens scattered

on brittle areola, the milky way shying away from midnight
sun. The toppled vision in blindness of a tribe

unearths the skeletons of mass murders; the
fanatics changing the face value of truths.

Images do not leave the temples.


Satish Verma