False Accusations

Satish Verma

Every night you become 
an insect, crawl into 
the bed and chew the lips of unknown, 
listening to the music 
of flowing blood. 

Outside the slogans- 
tear at you. It was a wound 
night, the words, untouching the space, 
go- straight into the echos, 
without any halo. 

So where did you sink in 
defiant orange of the sea, 
while turning back from your designed 
path? Another terrorist's sexism 
was on play? 

There were no barnacles, no 
frog mimicry. I silent walk into 
the arena to find the length of 
the caravan.