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Acid Test
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Satish Verma Was it a sorcery?
In broad daylight,
you snatch away the echoes.
Now I am shodowless.
Walking on toes.
I reach the pit.
Bluebells. From a
precipice, I bend down
to hear the divine music.
A dumper picks up
the foreign traveler, hot
iron. I become a refugee.
Talking of non-violence,
you become violent
against the poppies.
The drugged apostate
wants to live in
lesser space than a mouse.
Rainbow becomes
dark. Colors singe the eyes
ignite the psyche.
