Diary Poem by Satish Verma

He went under pile of words
to tie the thread of understanding
but was stoned to death.

They put the piglets in liquid nitrogen
for future generations to study.
The point of departure had come.

Navel-gazing was the best pastime
for the commander whose sepoys
were fighting the battle for freedom.

I have to say something which I need not
say. The fight is gone from the bleeders.
World was moving towards the poles.

We should talk about looking, not only
owning up our blunders. The import of
saying No has been cooked under the small Yes.