Satish Verma
Unfinished
Can you enlarge the moment,
when the time stopped and
you were trying to get a
glimpse of beyond?
You become a no-moment, a
no-truth, in a sauteed
orgasm.
And someone plucks a death
from your poems to
resuscitate you, draped
in tears.
The track record will show,
you were only yourself,
and never became a riddle.
Let go of me. It was only
a happening, undoing the
play, held in dark. As I
cross the door, you become invisible.
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