Satish Verma Poet I do not know?

Acoustics Are Not Working

Maimed, tortured for love of resistance
this night appears to be
without an end.
There was nothing to lose,
it was looking for some reason
to die on the side of a cloud
when the sickle moon was sailing.

Tomorrow a new lie will be born.
Even a suicide bomber
will be tossed around,
like a new coin.
Weaving a dress of skin and bones
in the little sky of so many
purple birds.

Acoustics are not working
walls have no doors.
By night only a torch will be moving.

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Denis Joe December 19, 2008 at 2:58 AM The atmosphere of this is great. I like how it reads as a narrative of a personal relationship and of a relationship to events, with the emphasis on a lack of control. Yet the poem shows great restraint. There is no hyperbole and the creation of images such as that of the tossed coin are brilliant and gives hyper layered meaning to the poem as a whole.