Not True

Satish Verma

A pigeon 
flutters, in my frail― 
chest, ready to fly away. 

The train does 
not stop here. Why 
do I keep standing? 

A man dies in 
a blizzard. You 
need to pay for it? 

What was the 
hallucination? I 
was living for a lie?

View satishverma's Full Portfolio