Satish Verma
Obstinacy
Be tender, with me―
in midstream.
I will not arrive.
Perversity was not
my virtue. I am still
burning on coals.
It was a disappearing act.
I become a brown rose
in your eyes.
The impacted glitch.
I was not deft
at the art of weaving a ritual.
I carry the dried skull,
of my unknown ancestor,
who would not come back to home.
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