Would not wear
the seasoned face.
Eye for eye
blasting the truth.
The path becomes the tunnel.
Unending,
in pain of speech
at the expense of ethics.
Under the fingernails
they start interbreeding
the ideas, crimnalizing the
upright past.
A vultured darkness descends
on the raped bed.
The great seduction of moon
had triumphed.
Satish Verma
