Why

Folder: 
Satish Verma

For a messenger of lies 
I lay down the script. 
A kick starts the game. 

I am the only visitor to the 
gallery. Kamasutra suicide displayed 
was a way of expression 

of a revolt against honour 
killing of your own daughters 
whose bodies were found in the canal. 

The tall sacred walls of home 
made kilns, where you empty your sixpence 
traditions on the name of native justice. 

A sightless vista opens before the 
inward eye. I take hold of a brush 
and wipe out the faces.

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