Satish Verma

They will not allow the assisted suicide. 
The beetles; fiery and drunk. 

After the betrayal of arithmetic, 
the spiral staircase. 

Fireflies set foot on the skies 
to measure the darkness. 

The fire between us, of burning fat, 
of thousand years, terrifies me. 

Moon bleeds on grass, I prick the 
voice of the hugging earth. 

The salt of the lips now hurts 
it was your parting kiss, O sun!