Poetry

Entering into hypersonic gridlock
you become one of the crowd;
remain devastated, slip into unconciousness,

defer to a calibrated emblem and speak
untainted. The debris was taking to the
street. The trees were drinking from

geyser basins, mutated restraint. The crow
was taking a bath in milk, to show that
it has no venom. Or rather no controversy

for a tedium death. That is the stripping of
ambition, till the light arrives. Darkness
will reap the grains of sorrow. The fire

digs out the secret bones. You cannot stop
the whipping of skulls which were without thoughts,
when silence was bidding for lips.


Satish Verma