Poezja

a savage desire to severe off
one's neck, the song will get a name
in troubled mind,
to remove the stain on tongue of black spider,
you will think again to commit your sleep
for that beautiful death:

guess what happens when you come out of the body
like a blue beam and strike a black hole amidst
the shining legies, the lines on your hand
till a different merger when the listening
was unheard and the body does not talk,

wolves were coming; no one minds the bullets,
but sneaking in dark, like paroxysm of sunrealistic
chorus of mutiny or angles fallen from the sky
the acid was thrown on the face, of rosy lips
because they were finding new words.


Satish Verma