Stones Poem by Satish Verma

Thoughts move
like free radicals
at different levels, at different times
to carve, to destroy
to put up their signatures on walls
to seek authority and wealth
to catch the sex and glory,
in perpetual chase.
Miss the shadow of moon,
miss the stars.

Here we go, here we sleep.
Only religion is desire,
only drama is hate.

We will set them on fire,
all the bees
all the wasps.
No insect will live
only us, the human beings.

Arrival of fever
entery of death
we are puppies
we are stones.