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Polka Dots
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Satish Verma We are afraid of each
other. You start packing
your majolica wares to move out
swiftly, not to return back.
The floor was dirty.
I walk barefoot on the sharp edges.
To ask the matriarch of pains―
mother earth, how long the
man should suffer?
A woodcutter does not
want to pursue his art. He
throws his axe far away and
starts meditating.
So much violence in our
lives. You slay a traveler
for telling his mind.
You were becoming jealous
of yourself. Start throwing
pepper in the eyes of moon.
