The Smiles Are Disappearing

Satish Verma

On your crumpled body
I write my name.

The Kosher trembles. I
place Gita to be unread by
unpraised eyes.

Do not abuse the
crate. It may contain
a pit viper.

I am not clean. You
can wipe out the face from
my sleeve and make a new shirt.

And the messenger will
deliver the gift of a
naked moon signed by black hole.

Attended by kisses
the roses were spread on
ground to receive the severed legs.

Stand in attention.
The beaten god has arrived.