Written by: Satish Verma

The point was, he had swallowed
the pawn.
The world rips apart
and ultimate wintering
sets in.

Shy of one truth,
the hour of reckoning demands
the blood facts.
You could have destroyed
me if I were to sing.

There were no crisis. Dismemberment
went on to squeeze honey
from the hapless victims chanting
Hail Mary.
I sizzled in vain.

Choking on your trumped up
victory, you will break in the house
to find the silver god stolen from
a golden mantel.

You climb on a tall tree and
then disappear in clear blue.

Satish Verma