Satish Verma

Pursuit of a desire 
in the middle of philosophizing 
life was an absurd idea. 
I was drawing a relationship 
between reality and death. 
Learning from destruction brings a pause, 
holding the hyphenating truth. 
The energy flows in voices 
of charity under the flowering words. 

When you slur over a depreciation. 
no one knows a bias. 
The bridge was incomplete and walls were high. 
The decay spilled out of the house, removing rotten beams. 
The first and last economy 
of throat sinks in 
the mud of heavy propaganda. 

It was not exactly a storm, 
only hollow drums 
beating for the drifting night. 
The blood drops falling 
on the moonlit earth. 
The questions remain unanswered 
who were the killers 
of prophets and saints? 
Who had changed the flesh?