Satish Verma

Life, sex and pain were 
of mundane existence. 
From where to where, we 
have arrived. 

From a bridge to bridge 
you cross the river 
without touching the water. 

When a nameless projectile 
downs your flight 
you fall like rags 
from the sky. 

A spider runs 
on tiptoes 
you wilt like mimosa. 

The ink spills 
an the sheet 
hiding the code.