Satish Verma

Eclectically, do not say anything; 
put a bullet in your head 
and go to sleep. 

I know what was coming 
after the ballot. A heap of 
abuses, for not maintaining the war. 

The presence you can feel, 
I am the native of this land― when 
hurricane comes, you untie the shoes. 

May be, wearing a dark suit, 
the bartender comes and pours the 
honey in your broken glasses. 

The music must not stop. The 
black spiders, with paired legs have 
synchronized with myriapods.