CHOKING ON WORDS

It was past endurance. 
Flattened rage went into shaking palsy. 
He moved into sculptured dark 
like false reason, 
to defend the ankle-bone, 
for sequential pain. 

Every one seemed a fallible saint 
wet eyed, sitting on extinct volcano, 
between tickling bombs of flesh. 
He imagined - 
that he was evaporating, 
from the eyebaths, steadily 
for a spiral journey. 

By way of fear, 
he wanted to break monotony - 
sitting upright in a lotus position 
to reverse the clock, of hunger, of extreme failures - 
choking on words, mixing 
continents of hate.

Satish Verma