Hewn Words

Satish Verma

A black hole detonates itself 
to stigmatize the substance. 
Now a silk road leads 
to sight and touch. 

A scarecrow starts screaming. 
Sky was falling on fire. The space 
becomes deviant. Chopped hands 
were drawing the tattoos 
of winged feet. 

I return to the ashes to find 
the stolen fame. Unstable angina. 
The pain comes and goes. I am not 
going to receive the avalanche 
of burnt out thoughts. 

Want to pretend my suicide 
to meet the harbor waves.