HEAVENLY

Walking with death
talking poetica.
Living without walls
and firing squad.

While new culture was
drowning on steps of
dots and bass voices.
The blood on hands.

Sometimes you are going
nowhere in a pathless
city. Back to back setting
ablaze bazaar of black gods.

Between the veils lies
the trauma of man. I
step out from the underside of
hymns. Cannot sleep in temple.

Satish Verma