Satish Verma
Will You Leave Me?
I did not mean to hurt.
Do not try to flute―
drinking the lianas,
wearing a fatigue. Then comes―
the shoot. Like a scarecrow
I sway― the slug― passes through me.
You ask me to turn over―
the death mask―
giving a smile. There was no
reprisal. Must bring under reins―
the pounding heart― I cannot talk.
Alone to mend my grief, the
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to
use any metal. Poverty becomes
my strength. Fears will stand with me.
I am empty like a glass.
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