Poetry

Satish Verma


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28 february 2015

BECOME MY FATHER

He did not want to climb the spiral helix,
a son will be born without him.
He said I want to become my father
and see the decline.

How for shall we go to investigate?
An infant wrapped up in plastic explosive
was going to be presented on dais.
An unclothed carcass was lying between you and me,
body donated for the study
of failing restraints. How death would behave
in broad daylight?
The vasectomy did not work. Testosterone was
still flowing.

Reading Kafka, peanuts!
We have come near emptiness
of a tree, hollowed by white ants.






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