INTROSPECTIVE

the pulsating ache of flogging 
after internal cave-in, a goldfish gets smeared 
with sperm, unclosing, opening a slaughtered canal 
for the drooping roses under the black wings 

of shame when in our translucency we were 
generously distributing arms to legless boys 
for transporting the name across the aisle of memories, 
the history repeats again in agony 

of centuries. The salt inside a name wakes up 
a darkness hauled up from eyes of faithfulls 
between the sentences and nude angels, a stroke 
will empty the womb of earth; 

i do not want to know, what will happen to shaking 
robots of mercy-homes, drilling the holes in 
walls of love? Will the rain come again of red 
drizzle on the mountains, the drought had already sucked up

Satish Verma