Not The God

Satish Verma

A fathomless abyss, 
you feel the power of wordless going. 

Sperms leave, 
when you smell your own blood. 

The roasted pig, 
or degenerating rhyme. 

What would be your pick; 
the dopamine? 
The serotonin, 
the medulla? 

The radar will not follow you. 
You are alone. 
A tiny dot moving on the screen of life. 

The morality was at risk, 
with no window.