I Am Not Myself

A Poem by Satish Verma

I Am Not Myself

Moon down I will
give a putsch to forget
a fiercely contested
claim.

Silent defeats had
the deepest wounds.

Like miniature paintings
were framed in
dried tears.

Why the ethnic divide had
stolen the skin of the teeth?

In fragments, I was
collecting the gifts not
given to you.

O god, make an ordinary
will for me I don't
want to see you dead.