Satish Verma
Civil Resistance
Being me
like a butterfly I cannot
fold the wings.
Why do we need to
burn the orchard grass
for an interim exit.
My bête noire was me.
I would not separate the
statecraft from worship.
Snubbing the trees,
I want to climb tall to know, why
were we using sarin and mustard.
On the road to avatars,
I won’t believe, that a released
soul should come back.
Robotic, someone was
searching a lost forest.
https://truml.com