White Shrouds Poem by Satish Verma

The lips will speak
without sound.
A tuliped man hangs himself
down, from a tall tree of fame.

You wanted to live in the―
glare of slit throats.
The blood brings the brilliant
glitter of gold.

End of the speech will―
throw up a mascot. The noose was
tightening around the―
rising― glorious sun.

Slavery never ends. You
become victim of your dazzling
peaks, when you stand alone
at unthinkable heights.

The spirit of the tree dies in your eyes.