Satish Verma
Unheavenly
A boulder on my neck.
I am climbing your
house, O god.
I don’t believe you.
I trust the man,
a committed trespasser.
A crestfallen humanity
walking endlessly in―
the valley of tears,
to find the clean water,
the bread and roof. The
anguish breaks the morals.
And our painted deities,
resting on their thrones to
see the vultures descending.
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