Poetry

A fugitive slice of moon
was preparing to leave.
From nothingness, tiny thoughts
flew out like moths.
I was watching the fall of night.

The wisdom kills nowadays.
Everyday a scandal breaks out.
A child cries endlessly. I might say
for a logic. Her mother had hanged
herself from a ceiling fan.

A celebrity enters the fluid world of pain
talks to the visionary goddess. Impatience
was coming to be. Grabs the wounds,
does not talk, prepares for the funeral
of human spirit and walks away with hawthorn.



Satish Verma