A rapt moon was listening
a tale of two murders.
Across the caste, fingernails
were digging in to give –
a putsch to darkness, unhappened
in vain.
A word tears into the untouched
pain and I bleed for the golden birds.
Can you transcend an apparition
alighting on impermanence?
Time was brewing
a revolution of untold jokes.
Death moves in a circle
to negotiate peace with unknown.
Skies were indifferent bidding
farewell to cracks of dawn.
Satish Verma
