Satish Verma

Listening to the voices of silence― 
of beautiful triangles, 
plagiarizing the 
straight lines from nowhere 
I lost my way to 
find you. 

I don't have numbers 
nor zeroes. Only angles 
to solve my pathless destiny. 

In spiral mysteries, 
would you ever climb the 
stairs of a minaret, reaching moon? 

You wanted a black rose 
without barbs. 

How does the blood flow without veins 
on the cheeks of sun? 

A hurt activist 
disappears in the clouds 
without wings.