Sleepless Nights

A Poem by Satish Verma

Sleepless Nights

Wanted a trial run to
become a beast for one day
in this Vanity Fair.

The glass house
starts quirking. How much
you were safe behind
this transparency?

Immediate vicinity
generates the foul odour, deactivating
your gaunt senses.

You don't reach
your home in fog. Your mind
will not calculate the distance.

The in security becomes
violent. You kill the
moose without hands.