Kill
Some truth disempowers you. You wanted
to be yourself as if not to become extinct.
A negative stress
starts churning your entrails.
Zero inertia. Your body begins
rummaging the soul for a prayer
which can arouse your thoughts.
All drunk now. Flashback events.
Hallucinations.
The virtue of tongue lets go the integrity.
Bewildered, spirited flesh ultimately cracks.
The violence tumbles out. My heart
squeezes melancholy.
Soon there will be a crowd
to seek a philosophical kill.
SATISH VERMA
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