Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

Deleting


Under the frame
lurking from a sun point
I will track the death
on mountain.

Unafraid, a wild animal
had killed the lambs
in a row, resting in homestead.
The ladders were squealing.

Dizzily you realize, that-
you don't belong to yourself.
After eating fire all along,
the birds had migrated; -

beneath the skin; now pigments
were changing the color. You
become selfish. Start removing
your name from the martyr's list.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, July 18, 2012

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