Author Information
Broken Arms
Folder:
Satish Verma The witch-hunt starts
for an unexploded bomb.
A racist slur becomes mute
for posterity.
The words start migrating―
coming out of their skin and colors.
A dead man walks into
a coal pit for exoneration.
Breathless, I become privy
to mass suicides of the flying moths.
You become a child, hiding
behind a tree, watching
a tiger maul a striped ariel.
