Of Land And Ills

Satish Verma

The dancing paper, 
humilates the pen. 
A stunning defeat for morality. 

In splendid withdrawl, 
the eyelids bear the violence 
of soil. 

A broken pride 
will get back at you. 
Step aside. Let the soul read the dewdrop. 

The moon meets the 
earthen lamp, to understand 
the hymns of rag-pickers. 

The religion drinks 
the aroma of holy vice. Was 
there any truth of a beast?