Satish Verma

Polarity hits you at face, Thoughts. Move 
inversely. The deed, words, slogans 
divide the eternity of time. No hygienic 
patience. Persons coming from channels only. 

The thing. Image in hundred mirrors. 
Varieties of fakes and counterfeits. Foeticide. 
Paedophile. Necrophilia. Peddling pink flesh. 
It is. Peels of skin left on roads. Your shape, 
my contours, his art. I am passing through 
a tunnel. Open-and-shut. No end. No beginning 
Two nothings. 

Will keep on moving. Roaches are scuttling 
like rats with wings. Their country. We are 
outsiders. Strangers. Not to reveal the names, 
No landmarks on walls, intersections, doors. 
No vigilance, No corporatized pain. No 
bleeding wounds. 

Impatience. Nobody opens the eyes. 
Long sleep. I pray, no waking up. 
Let the global warming end. Let the 
terror die of its own Aconite.