Poetry

What that I am left with, impaled in jaws
of mantis, starting a tug of war, for the

otherness in me, seeking a bloodbath between
my poise and incestuous blue hole of black walls.

I gave you my voice, my roses. I am not afraid
of an impromptu death, but I was connected to

time-space of killing grounds of truth to save
the tears salt. I promised myself a zero gravity.

And you might take Kava kava to resolve
the conflict between round tables and square chairs.

I will go on starvation death in moon washed
landscape freezing my breath to release my soul.


Satish Verma