Satish Verma

Investing your hands 
to write something unique― 

the parrots flew out from 
your lips. You will not mimic the beasts. 

Avoiding taking sides, the 
torture remains unexplained, but 
we were always bleeding. 

Between eyes and paper, words 
float to land in haste. Faith 
was ready to self-immolate. 

It was not a political commentary. 
Some poems really want to become poems. 

Read my money. It cannot buy any death.