Leaving the faint traces,
of some diluted thoughts
You empty yourself completely.
Poverty and shame without an arithmetic,
is the poetry of life.
Using the body instead of words.
Always needing currency,
to open the doors of clarity.
Naked without skin,
we survive on crumbs of charity.
Lending our organs to develop,
an order of mortality.
I refuse to taste the bitterness,
preserve my sanctity,
go for another version of god,
thinking, how to think.
For the inward freedom,
I forsake safety pins,
walking, bleeding on the jagged stones.
Pain of realization is deeper,
than the hurt.
Cry silently in the veins
pure resistance will not work now.
I will try the fiction path.
Satish Verma