Poetry

It was not a demigod, elephantiasis
of a beast, snakes sitting on head. A catastrophic

tree view.I was proud of being alive during
carpet-bombing. A catnip was needed to clear

the vision. The town was moving out shedding
its landmarks. Nocturnal flares were disturbing

the lovers. A chronic shift in sex starved
season. The birds had stopped going behind

the bushes. Each day seeks permission to bury
the dead, and grass waits for the noble feet.

Ultra hemo cover was not there. Drained out
we were becoming pale to account for the loss

of blood in cross-firing. Ultimate pain in chest
will unburden the task of a funeral prayer.


Satish Verma