Satish Verma
Furious Wounds
A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.
The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams?
Do you see the gap
between the clouds?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.
Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.
A baby dies in womb
without A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.
A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.
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