DRAMA

A fugitive chameleon sits on my window sill 
daily, ceding the space horizon to thickness 

of delusion; wants to decimate the infamous 
rotting image of man, shining everyday in lush 

fucking gossips. A perfect imperfection of treachery 
to attack the hapless blade of grass who cannot 

stand erect in a gale of glory of tall trees. 

The star-glint overwhelms a prophet of dust. 
A goddess enters the labyrinth of anthologies. 

The smile that sets to sail a thousand slogans- 
flies from infinity to the branches of flesh. 

And the rivals collapse like dark alchemy 
without qualms, naked and speechless.

Satish Verma