Satish Verma

It was a quaint 
feeling. Something was 
going to happen. 

I had asked the fading 
moon, are you going 
to die? 

Fear was going to 
win, it said. The blues 
are approaching. 

Do you believe in 
probables of phobias? 
The killing of big hugs? 

No mercy for the 
obsession of noisy celebration. 
A god was changing the gender. 

I forgive the fire, 
forget the light and 
start embracing the dark for a bang.