Satish Verma
Transmutation
The single purple moon
was cruising non-chalantly.
You come out at the window-
and hit the headlines.
Put on hold, my existential
being. I am becoming
non-existent. The abundant
mental ills, become a cause.
Do you agree on this verdict?
It comes back to haunt you,
Your past. The black hope dis-
membering you. You come -
out finally to declare the murder.
I am waiting in the wings.
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