A Part Of Whole

Satish Verma

I had not asked for 
all of you, 
walking your path 
above the clouds. 

Do you think, it was 
end of beginning? 
The republic of sagebrushes has 
nothing to say. Incense stops drifting 
in desert of crumbs. 

You start talking 
to your esteem self for the rigged factuality. 

I don't want back, 
your virginity of first tears. 
Underneath lies the stunned poetry 
of the bruises. 

There were ruthless secrets 
inside your lids. 
I will not wait for the moon 
to go red. 

The swastika wants to justify 
the chimneys?