The Brutal Life by Satish Verma SignUp
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Theme: Life Share This Page
The Brutal Life
by Satish Verma
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  The unspoken words 
had the unborn quality. 
That homeliness sitting around the fire pits 
writhed in predatory hopelessness. 
Insensitive to flesh 
we were shooting the ducks in midair. 

Rapture for the dirt, 
deceit does not need a consonant, 
the intensity confronts the meaning. 

The impermanence of joy 
restores the crypt; 
the body was still to be brought. 

On the winds 
a crumpled name floats 
recalling the orgies.
Share This:
November 26, 2010
More By: Satish Verma
Views: 939      Comments: 0




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