Unmasked inside,
we play the games of a torch
the living legend,
great beauty of dirty thoughts.
A twin drama unfolds.
the icon burns and a wealth
of praise drowns the priest.
Now death dance begins.
Neither immersion nor
the float ends the relationship.

The hunger leaps
to death from top floor.
Life is ripped apart.
The swarm of vultures descends,
mating of news begins.
The anodyne is spread on the wounds.
Room to room,
the liquidation begins; of faces, of spots.

A cruel joke is repeated
every day relentlessly,
I wait for the transformation of beginning,
of the ending.
The light to fade and
god to taste like a hot bun.
The dangling doors must close,
for a while to motivate the dreams.

Satish Verma