Satish Verma

Trying to quantify the vices 
in you, I am becoming 

Going my own way. 
I join the migration 
of invisibles. 

A plucked tiger lily 
roars. Amphibians were ready 
to invade the mountain. 

The curled fingers 
had become question marks. 
Blindness had become a bliss. 

Inlaid in the redwood 
lies my blood. I lived under 
the branches, naked, carefree.