Poetry

When the surveillance increased, 
the curtains started 
falling. You were ready to 
start the dialogue with death 
holding off your hunger. 
 
Each face had its history 
scripted on the forehead. Dark is 
after all dark. You unroll 
the night-black lace and 
confront the moon. 
 
Under the old banyan tree 
a dream lies with limbs tied. 
A mob smears the vermillion on its body 
and then starts lynching it. 
I have only one question. 
 
Why were we towed on 
wrong leads for tallest peak?