Poetry

What was left in our hands
after risk and awards were given to seekers?
Sign of grace at hairpin bends
was absent.Nobody was speaking.


A moratorium was announced.
Somebody will have a glimpse of the moon
through the interstices of pain. Not
a word will be uttered for the elite


ravines of truth. Blessings of facts
will interact with amnesias. The bribery
of bleeding will extract a price. I
am moving the wheels of doubt. The
vulture of time throws a shadow.


Satish Verma