Poetry

A crooked slanting moon
shifts the eye
comes under the chaste tree
and washes the tainted
victory.

Wolves start howling
at the tomb of unknown martyr,
man-eaters recoil
on the sugar island
and talk about destinies,

A mourning crowd walks
repudiating the death;
one day nuances of an ode
will thaw the delta
in disbelief.

The Delphic attitude
of a translucent murder
narrates the wisdom of sadness
which cannot propel the
blood stained light.


Satish Verma