A tumbler climbs a rain
in all crimelessness.
Perhaps you will never know
my invaginating self. The thirst has
become a river.

A pile of books and I cannot read.
The shadow lengthens on the wall.
An eagle melts in the air.
They are shifting him for amputation.
Truth cannot walk.

I become my father tonight
and watch the house burning.
I am told there was lot of bleeding before.
There will be no need to rescuscitate.
The dead man says, why not?

Satish Verma