Poetry

The reverse gravity pulls me
into timelessness,
holds me to become free from tremors.
The truth of zero morality
hurts.
I am pathless, secular,
godless.
The blank paper decides, how the fingers
will move. The uniform
has a secret rendezvous
with golds.

There was a dark zone,
the chimney, the indifferent smoke
curling upward.
The torch fails.
At the center of the conflict
rises a desert boom, instead of roses.
Non-violence, a forgotten word. A group
of shaven heads mourns. Royalty does not
want to leave the palace. The bodies of
slain innocents –
are placed collectively on a huge pyre!


Satish Verma