Satish Verma

Bigotry, is that you with 
the lost numbers? 

Looking back, will not 
light the road. 

I could not haul myself 
out, of the kitchen, of narrative. 

Something makes me jittery, 
counting my failures. You revert back 
to the caravan. 

After the love. The lines 
burn and you set aside the goal-

of becoming free from writing off 
the man.