PAPER THIN

Tearing up,
the revised versions.
Wall was rising.

Invisible,
like the unconceived
terror.

Half-eaten space,
the man wants to
hide the holiness.

The final leap, 
for the hips, the lips 
for the dive.

The bloodied
paperweight, which smasthed
the skull of a bald deity.

The arguments, that
kill the path, a 
gift of sky.


Satish Verma