WRAPPED IN STIGMA

The heritage
went for a sale. A tree
stands denuded, after
a nudie.

An orange land hides
the broken remains of terra
cota. I wanted an earthen
inkpot and a reed pen.

There was a wounded word
on the tongue. A
dragonfly leaves the voracious
appetite and skims on milk.

Pulsating cleavage
gets a prize. The salt lakes
are full. A caged bird
will not sing.

Satish Verma