Forgetting The Hymn Poem by Satish Verma

Spherules start a pincer attack
on the modesty of an epiphany.
The manifestation was incomplete.

The windows were very small in-
the wind-palace. Only ringdoves
were sitting on the sills, cooing all day.

They were sitting in a row; cross-
legged, the naked monks. As a penance
they were getting the scalp hair pinched off.

Swearing will not help. You need to
suffer like a forgotten language,
like grass blades who bend again & again.