Satish Verma
If You Were Me
Like canary
you flew into my arms.
Capturing the inevitable.
Vowels and consonants had
separated again.
Chasing the melting
glacier, you jump into the sea.
Moguls were trying to
reach out, blow-by-blow.
Moon like half-brother
was envious, of the grace of fall.
A baby fist was striking a blow
on the wall of doped womb.
I am preparing to receive
a gay courier of apocalypse.
Bones buried in ashes
were jutting out.
Death game begins.
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