Poetry

A rapt moon was listening 
a tale of two murders. 
Across the caste, fingernails 
were digging in to give - 
 
a putsch to darkness, unhappened 
in vain. 
A word tears into the untouched 
pain and I bleed for the golden birds. 
 
Can you transcend an apparition 
alighting on impermanence? 
Time was brewing 
a revolution of untold jokes. 
 
Death moves in a circle 
to negotiate peace with unknown. 
Skies were indifferent bidding 
farewell to cracks of dawn.