Reversible
The death of nearness:
it shuts the invite
I will ask moon for a targeted kill.
Move on, untouchable,
your tainted image
was unspectacularly terrible.
The contagious trachoma
has caught the impeccable face.
Do not tremble, I am burning in a glass,
a sisyphean ordeal of my choosing:
unpolluted, unthinkable,
in the body pain, flows like lava.
An eternal shredding of pigments
Unpeeling the smell of hate.
Can we go to our naked childhood ?
Copyright © Satish Verma | Year Posted 2009
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