It was otherness which bothered me:
nothing happened otherwise.
Brisk and upright
He failed penultimately.

I still hear the footfalls
of circumstances,
of retreated sounds.

The hidden fire lights up
I squirm in pain.
The canopy of false rumors
falls on dirty road.

His gangrene was evident;
still he walked with a glow,
all alone, but listening to howling
and surveying the floods of tears.

A single argument
lifts the tanned skin
displeases the mob
and abandons the search.

Satish Verma