Deep inside
there was a simian jealousy.
The opaque words will raise
a burnt-out storm –
returning the whole family
of white flowers to the moon.
The falling
inside the bowl
before the snake could strike
interrupting the dead soldiers
of unknown war-
weapon-free.
A stunning invasion
of the spoons in summer months,
when sweat was expensive than
truth and a sentence
was lost between the punctuations.
Yet I was going to recite a poem.
Satish Verma
