Satish Verma

(5-6-1935)

Make Believing


Unstitched, you visit
my navel, without
warning. There were

bloody stains. I made
no surrender. The bullet
went very deep.

Sovereignty was at stake.
I sit like Buddha
under a raging moon –

invoking the spirits. An
irreverence bites me, scares
me to the bones.

Glitch. I lost the vision.
The nude version was
very pure, very sane.

Submitted: Saturday, October 26, 2013
Edited: Saturday, October 26, 2013
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