Written by: Satish Verma

Was I sane ?
Like poetry infiltrating,
when you were eating grass ?
And money was walking free.

The hollow eyes 
had the moral authority
to expunge the fidelity from the
book. Are the blue needles

hurting you, I was asking moon ?
Moon’s stony eyes started
watering. Strangers in bed, the
trust had a different taste, another smell.

Words were loaded, they were
going to start beheading a tender song.

Satish Verma