Poetry

You start abbreviating the pretention,
caring for the end of a perennial revenge
of slain truth, finding depth in arguments
which will spawn more violence.

Come my friend, come. Sit with me.
Let us search together the solitary
death in living past. Ultimate space was
a great deception of the eternal silence.


Clayey mood again depicts the pain
between your moons. I go for a play in dust
of time. The beats of heart will not wear
a sword now.


One hope finds a moon-belt on the hills
where the shadows walk with stars.
I will wait for the sun to rise.


Satish Verma