Satish Verma
CONFERRED GUILT
A felled tear reflects the rainbow.
I wait for the night.
Moon had promised an audience.
Yes, I will sit beside the moon,
will tell the woes of earth, uncomplaining:
the heat, the dust, the life needles
and expressionless faces of trembling
angels. The heroes were disrobing and
attacking the pyramids of undoing.
I sweat and reel in chilly mornings.
A primitive instinct takes over the
nightmare. The spoons become the swords.
Satish Verma
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