Poetry

It crashed like a chandelier
my dream.
Becoming wet, into unhealing existence.
I was expecting a landfall
by burst of flames.

Grieving for a lost generation,
a meaningless exit from the stage
of bites and suffering.
Can you reverse this idea
of rebirth in the land of nobodies?

That prison inside will not release
the doves and I was expanding
in the vaulted dome of violence
to discover the wait of a happening
to arriv


Satish Verma