Poetry

After a peek into the world news,
I will start asking many questions to myself
in the dialect of hurling petrol bombs that,
how many names of a god are valid
in my poor dictionary of past truths?

I start eating away myself bit by bit
and save few grains for my children,
for clenching hurts and start a journey of unknown.
The debate will never end for the sake of
poetics in many me, of many avatars.

Un-self I start searching the stairs
of the tower in dark conspiracy of silence.
The night has forgotten a Mozart.The
magic flute will not play again.


Satish Verma