Satish Verma

Acid filters in the cords 
scathing the greens 
frightens the lamb. 
Tiger leaps from the bush 
to make a kill, 
body is cold, blue. 

Ants are dragging carcass now 
of dead beetle 
as an act of benevolence. 

White bones are jutting out of the sand, 
here the beheading was done. 

One rose was black, one is red 
One was queen, one is dead. 

Night will sweat out a moon now 
who will walk like a bruised wound. 

Pain is very thick like the fog 
only silence will give the voice. 

Obsessively you want to hold 
the rags which made you rich.