Poetry

I was not indifferent to graffiti
but oracle was telling a different story
of embellished arms race
about the mathematics of terror.

Less comprehensible
I presume.
But who was transparent and
simple today.

A wisp was rising among the hills.
We do not want to know,
is it scattering the cobalt?
Toys calling the masters?

And that sinking feeling,
they were singing money
in fake currency which
was not hot.


Satish Verma