There was existence,
without space.
I was afraid of my unborn child.
Inheriting the stammer
of history
I could not think of any brand abuse.
On the contrary, fumes
throw you off the road.
Full moon rising on the cleft.
I was, as I am, never being
to any threat of drowning
in contradictions.
A dignity in withdrawl
and coming back after sunset
to walk in night, alone.
Satish Verma