STILL BIRTH

Roses had gone wilting 
after surgery. 
Biovision 
of acrylic lenses 
was projecting a corrupt green mount. 
The rubber king had a papery laugh. 

How you deal with a maverick -
matter " of " factly? 
Pall bearers of a tall legend 
were carrying nitroglycerine sticks 
unfazed. 

Saboteurs of moon night were scheming. 
I was sick of pretentions. 
Brown and black scars 
become a honeycomb 
hiding the agenda. 

Stigmatized devotion gets back at you 
after still birth of truth. 
I will wait sine die for the verdict 
of hope.

Satish Verma