Pussyfoot Poem by Satish Verma

He was wading through the frozen pain
unhappy at himself.
Staring vacantly at the blurred stars.

Who was not guilty when the staircase
collapsed? The half-men were busy
in arranging to open the trap door.

Amplified hunger was spilling like
acid rain, changing the colour of
fault-line, kindled bellies.

A twin murder has yet to be resolved.
There is no more pursuit of the menace
and the fear lurking under the dirty eyes.

Green stomach sends the odor,
becomes a reminder of stones in the bowl.
The thick men are walking on air.