Poetry

When we slept through our
naked loops, there was a silent call.
Moon was out walking on the street
peeping through the glass window,
the crossed legs.
Trees were meshed up in dark. Do you
know the impropriety of leaves, climbing
on each other? Dogs inbreeding? Incestuous in camera.
The elixir of life. Recycled urine. We
were not crying. It was the urgency
to die to challenge the infinity.
We get paralysed. Our legs will not
move on fallen skulls. Blood was everywhere.
The terrorists on terrace, negotiating for a massive
ransom. This interwar was wholesome. The
hysterical confusion breaks us apart
and morgue was full of kissing gods.


Satish Verma