Author Information
Persecution
Folder:
Satish Verma I wanted nothing
from you, O prophet
of the holy tomb.
Lie in rest.
The living memory
fails, I look inside the
sepulcher. There were
only dry rosed petals.
At peace in temple of
flagellation. I am catching
blue butterflies.
I go for metaphysics.
Try to deceive myself
and forget the real.
In defining the being,
an angel wants a
pound of flesh.
Nothingness wins.
