Satish Verma

Only the love-birds will know 
it was time of inquisition. 
There was a lot of prodding in 
the neighbourhood. 

A voice without sound 
was resenting with guilt-virginity 
and the bell tolls 
for a zero hour. 

The entrusted trust was 
still moving off the transparency. 
Was it not a weird night? 

The newly hatched babies, 
jutting out their necks 
from their clay homes were 
to know the roots of verbs.