Poetry

Incredible moon
tips the hallucinating tree.
Lake propels the waves to limbs
and strips to bank.

I wear my lightning
and enter into a process
outside body. The night
betrays and goes back to sun.

There is a frame of truth to be claimed
in a black sac, who slashed
his neck for the deity
of widening freedom.

Turn right, where the trembling
nation stands to pick up the fallen heroes.
I am going to write an epitaph
with my blood on the wind chimes.

Satish Verma