Satish Verma

A transient smile lights up a moonless 
landscape, catalyzing the woes of 
labour of hot arguments. A fragile 

peace prevails. When the plot thickens 
let me count the bodies in the domain 
of a wasted god. 

Meanwhile I will get an interim sunless 
day to find the mystery of believers. 
A bridge had ultimately collapsed. 

In the panic room, no image filters. 
You continue to draw the nudes of goddesses 
and distance yourself from the rubble of axes. 

Battle-scarred earth throws up 
a severed head of a patriarch 
who refused to open his eyes. 

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