Short Surrogates Poems

As morning falls

The shower calls

And the mirror like a surrogates arms

I reflect on captivity....

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Art must mount a full-scale attack on language itself,
by means of language and its surrogates, on behalf of the standard of silence.
Susan Sontag.




I talk too much.

The Things are:
a flower
a grain of sand
a spark.

And all together....

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There was no space between 
the bonsai.
                  
You were growing in a flat 
tray, spreading horizontally.     

The plain glitter of absence 
brings the unorder. You-

want to start a riot among
the fallen leaves of an autumn.

A civil war between words.
They were fighting without guns.

There are no comments, no
judgement. Only blood in the kitchen.

The surrogates were presented.
Are you ready to call the shots ?


Satish Verma...

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