Poetry

A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness

of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous
rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush

damaging gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery
to attack the hapless blade of grass who cannot

stand erect in a gale of glory of tall trees.

The star-glint overwhelms a prophet of dust.
A goddess enters the labyrinth of anthologies.

The smile that sets to sail a thousand slogans-
flies from infinity to the branches of flesh.

And the rivals collapse like dark alchemy
without qualms, naked and speechless.


Satish Verma