Poetry

The skin drifts:
explores the trash:
Atlast the path was liberated.

Each leaf becomes a face
of a felled tree
outside the wisdom;

you make death
on water.

Accidental –
reversal of pathology,
a hospital expires in bed;

peace was shattered
in the womb of an oyster.
No pearl was found.

Communicating
with void, you reach the door of truth,
requesting to meet the core thought.

Turned down. You think.
Therefore I tell a lie
to bluff the god.


Satish Verma