Satish Verma

Converging at the well, 
for the last rites, you set 
the soul free, touching 
the sacred water to― 
your eyes. 

The dead plaques break out on their own 
from the walls, and were 
flowing in the bloodstream. 

Like a sloth you swing 
upside down, unmoving. 

Do not put up any petition. 
You have reached the end of the road. 

The dust and alpha particles 
come in the way of lightstream. 
A cup drinks the fetishes, 
you will not.