It was a taxidermal view
thousands of fawns on the lake.
Can you handle the die-off
of the whole truth?
I have nowhere to go. Genes are
turning on, turning off. Bare hands
holding the bruises.
Hungry, but cannot eat
looking at the tattoos on the back of
starving children.
I am sick these days in the midst of glory
and shame. Faithlessness is a prize
wrapped by shadows. The snakes
are climbing on the walls.
Human things, like chimps
kissing and hugging to calm down.
in memoriam of a lost tribe.
The body of a chaste god
lies buried under the debris of unholy secrets.
Homeless I wander, beneath the high sky.
SATISH VERMA
wanted to send a call to me
sitting in a flowing traffic of life, a sinister,
sadistic happiness to see the disasters
coming home, in triangle of death,
for visitation of a nihilistic visual, the wedding
of taxidermal violence, at scope of frugal
clay, moulding the age of anxiety
because there were enough girls to be raped
and hunger was disconnecting the tribes
in camps, the bunkers were safe haven
for daunting, unremembered prodigal sons;
the vultures were dying daily,
you were outcast, a sleepwalker in dark,
confronting the boundaries of labiate palms
SATISH VERMA
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.