Genesis

I don’t want to sit 
on a patch of fear,
tangled in occupation
while fighting with the locks.

The theater of tumblers.
I am here, not there
making dents in air
on alarmed street.

Time was out and time was in
against the jolted clocks.
I have stopped to get
an imprint of amputations.

You will not get ruby
you will not get gold.
Dust will go in dust
after the fall of royal debris.



Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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