What You Won't Say

Satish Verma

Don't spell the deportation. 
Mind seems split- 
with a maddening feel. 
Do you see what I see- 

the invisible lines on 
my hand, piercing your heart? 
Do you hear, what I 
hear- the Hum, which has 
made you go crazy? 

Dying to unspeak, you 
hide between the leaves.The 
borrowers come like Crab fish, 
ugly and demanding.River 
bed was drying up. 

Black sticks, things not 
required- get piling up.In 
wheelchair, you push 
a crying doll.