Satish Verma

What organicity! 
Moon was coming down 
on me. A visual alacrity, 
accepting the surrender. 

Journey to dead phrases 
begins. Revivalism? 
You dig out the extinct remains, 
the forbidden Anemone, daughter 
of Mars. 

Come once, to my side, 
to receive my fervor, 
making me timeless. 

Desires were ace runners. 
Mind picks up the cobalt blue 
of your eyes. 

Now you go blank― 
against the cult. The thumb 
was set lower than the forefinger. 
It will not pull the trigger.