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Satish Verma It was otherness which bothered me:
nothing happened otherwise.
Brisk and upright
He failed penultimately.
I still hear the footfalls
of circumstances,
of retreated sounds.
The hidden fire lights up
I squirm in pain.
The canopy of false rumors
falls on dirty road.
His gangrene was evident;
still he walked with a glow,
all alone, but listening to howling
and surveying the floods of tears.
A single argument
lifts the tanned skin
displeases the mob
and abandons the search.
