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The Smiles Are Disappearing
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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.
