The Biometrics

The freak accident 
of a paranormal mystic, begins
a telekinesis in the dark room
to internalize the chopped off
obsession of sex.

You will be needed as a 
fugitive now, in the
muddle of passions. There was 
a complete lull before the storm.
A pindrop silence.

An anxiety starts, of-
becoming nothing, in the comfort
zone. The roots look up
at the lunar month, to bail out
the loner, convicted of sedition.


Satish Verma
Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

Poem

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