Satish Verma

triangulating the body. 
I will not come for the false blues. 

You dig out the bones― 
to evaluate the sickle, 
that failed to trim the dark. 

The murder was clean. 
A religion lies beheaded. 
Anaerobic, the poem survived. 

The animal smell, 
stays.Overpowers the limbs. 
You run blindfolded. 

The crickets emit an omen. 
A sulfur burns. 
The yellow sun was rising.