Poetry

Integrity of door was challenged,
walls will not take the blame.
Tension increased between believing
and non-believing.

Did we listen to moaning of night?
There was a murder in broad day-light.
Eyes will not betray the whisking of corpse,
pallbearers were moving very fast.

I thought nothing will ever move now
not even the possessed mind.
The final page of book has been torn
and the story will never reach the end.

To become anything or something
is difficult these days.
Do we need to drink our own blood
to become great on paths of anonymity.


Satish Verma