Somersaults Poem by Satish Verma

Becoming gold diggers,
the myths, without
ism and orthodoxy.

The creed will not observe.
I will say, I am the god
of ruins.I offer my inadequacies
to be punished.

The passions were rising.
You kill yourself to get the
space, the privacy.

Where the theme ends?
The religion has only absurd
quotations.You always involve the
Almighty- for any fall,
any bloodshed.

The tricks played by blessed
saints.You would always sleep in dark.
Eyes the faded gems.