Poetry

Tonight a dark force enters my room
I will play with planets to decide
the course of my destiny.
A future has been tied to my past.

Such pain, strange exorcism, the evil spirit
stains the bed.
When I squeeze the eyes
fog deepens.
It hides the treasure of subtle creation.

Every thing is turning into black energy
I stop thinking.
A pretention of kindness, and monumental grace play
to stop the suicide after loss of
standing harvest.

The hope has been abducted
for a ransom of a child.
There is rape of a classical painting.

Corridors of power resound with promises
styles smashed, seeds thrown
randomly on the land of guilt.
We will wait for the showers to come.


Satish Verma