Satish Verma

This city of musketeers. 
You are always having a bruising― 
encounter with yourself. 
Everyone tries to find an exit plan, 

when the house in on fire, 
and the abstract signs go on display. 

I think you should not 
have organized the religion, 
the book, the sermons. 

I have lost the way to me, 
to my aloneness, to my emptiness. 

The economy of words was 
in ruins. There was no space 
to stand on the sense, import. 

A chilling meet begins between 
the sparring wheels.